


Carpe Diem

by sarhea



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: hermione_smut, Community: hermionebigbang, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarhea/pseuds/sarhea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story delving into an alternative history of canon. An accident sends Hermione Granger to the past, the Marauder’s time. She refuses to obey conventional wisdom and chooses to shape the future… To follow her own heart and Live. She has succeeded, breaking the rules to Change events and Rabastan Lestrange loves her. What could have happened next, for canon events to occur? What would happen if she were torn from him and returned to her time? What would happen when they are finally reunited?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carpe Diem I – Varied Decisions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lestrange_love](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lestrange_love).



> Warnings: graphic intimate scenes, violence  
> Spoilers: Deathly Hallows/Epilogue: EWE  
> Beta: Jo aka black_coffee13. Thanks so much for the rush job.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and co. J.K. Rowling and various other companies do. I’m not making any money off my fanfic writing.
> 
> For: Part I for LJ Community hermione-smut Round 4. Lestrange_love Prompt 4&5  
> 4) When an accident sends Hermione back in time, she ends up falling in love with someone she’s not supposed to.  
> 5) Hermione has a secret admirer who has been sending her gifts. What will happen when she finds out who he is?  
> For: Part II for LJ Community hgbigbang – Hermione Granger Big Bang 2011  
> 1) Five years after leaving England, Hermione returns with her child, and no one is more surprised than the father.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is in the past and decides to make her own choices. This puts her on cross-paths with Albus Dumbledore. Along the way she makes some unexpected allies and discovers she has a Secret Admirer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An accident sent her to the past where she was found by Unspeakables (Dept of Mysteries). They helped her set up a cover story and fake background.

"And I want two feet of parchment on a complete analysis of one specific curse from the list of Class B wasting curses we have been discussing this week! If you wish to write about a curse we have not touched on in class please stop by during my office hours!"

"Sure thing, Professor Grangston!"

Hermione Granger sighed and watched her students stampede out of the DADA classroom. The more mannerly ones were gathering up their belongings in a more leisurely fashion.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied two particularly bratty students who were still hanging around one slender green-eyed red-head witch. Trying to impress her enough to agree with them on some point.

James Potter and Sirius Black. She bit back the urge to take off points and assign detention for 'harassing a fellow student.' She had a reputation for being a strict but fair DADA instructor. Taking off points in a fit of temper would not serve anyone. Besides those two idiots would not learn anything. They would not until someone died or came real close to it.

Full lips pressed into a thin line as brown eyes turned towards a different part of the classroom and a sullen, not very attractive, sallow, Slytherin teen hurriedly packing up his book bag before scurrying out. Severus Snape. It broke all the rules of not contaminating the timeline but Hermione was determined to protect her once teacher the best she could. And if that meant going against popular opinion then so be it!

Absently she began gathering her teaching materials and class tools and putting them away in the cupboards she had added to her classroom. Usually one of the students would volunteer to stay and help her but there was a Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game scheduled after tea. Even the more studious would be in attendance.

"Miss Grangston." A familiar soothing voice interrupted her reverie.

Hermione turned to face the owner of the voice and felt a small shock.

Albus Dumbledore was dead. She had seen his body herself. Attended his funeral. Fought a war and survived despite his very unhelpful advice. And yet, here he was standing before her alive and well. Still poking his nose where it was not wanted, wanting to know yet unwilling to share.

By second nature she reinforced her Occlumency barriers. She doubted she could hold off a wizard as powerful and skilled as Dumbledore but she had a few tricks and techniques she had developed using Muggle theories and science.

"Professor Dumbledore." Her voice was cordial, her tone even and pleasant giving away nothing of her personal feelings.

He would not approve of her plan but it was Her Choice to make… Not His. Besides she was not playing God by manipulating others into specific paths. That was His thing; not hers. She was simply setting the situation so others would have options they never had before, options he never gave them… the broken, the discarded, the spoiled, the scorned, the fearful, the abused, ignorant and the ignored.

Steel stiffened her spine at the memories of those same fallen souls. Dumbledore never gave them a chance before they Fell and after he only made half-hearted attempts at trying to redeem them. And he had never apologized for his bad decisions. To the bitter end he stayed his course and nearly wrecked everything.

Pale gold shards glinted in light hazel brown eyes and full lips curved into a faint dismissive smile. No, Hermione was not going to share her information with the Headmaster. And she was not going to even try influencing the Order of the Phoenix in this time. She had far more dependable allies in the Department of Mysteries.

"Will you be attending today's Quidditch match Hermia?"

Hermione Granger, also known as Hermia Grangston, shook her head.

"I'm afraid not Professor Dumbledore. I have a pile of Fifth year essays to mark and I'm trying to keep this weekend clear."

"That is a disappointment. Surely you can spare the time…"

"I'm afraid not. I'm meeting a few friends in London, Saturday morning."

"That is a disappointment. Quidditch does help the students and staff bond over a shared interest."

Albus Dumbledore smiled kindly, genially, but Hermione was not fooled. She merely smiled politely and nodded.

"Quite true Professor. But I tend to bond over other, mainly intellectual, interests."

"Please Hermia, call me Albus."

"Albus. Excuse me but I must get going now."

She picked up her Muggle-style briefcase and walked away without a second glance.

~o~

Albus Dumbledore, Holder of the Order of Merlin First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, was concerned by the latest Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.

True she had the best qualifications of all the applicants but she was so difficult to deal with! Oh she was polite and well-mannered. She attended all the staff meetings and listened. But then she opened her mouth and argued her own view points. And acted on them! She was quickly becoming a polarizing point that was dividing the staff, weakening their trust and obedience to Him! Him! The Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Defeater of Grindelwald!

He watched her walk away with troubled blue eyes studying her over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. The problem was Hermia Grangston was not in awe of him. She was not a Hogwarts alumni. She had been home-schooled by an elderly aunt and taught to question and examine everything. She most likely would have been sorted into Ravenclaw, or even Slytherin given her skill in gathering allies and shaping views. Even Minerva –one of his staunchest supporters– was questioning him more and more on his decisions and actions.

Absently he stroked his beard. In peaceful times such views and opinions would be welcome. But these were not peaceful times. It was the calm before the storm. Her actions were causing divisions in his base of supporters. He could not force her to submit and obey, he was a Light Wizard. He could not afford to fire her; she had allies in the Department of Mysteries who could be useful and necessary in the upcoming war. All he could do was wait and watch.

He sighed softly and began walking away. He hoped the Quidditch game would be interesting enough to engage his attention. He really needed a distraction from the enigma wrapped in thorns that was Hermia Grangston.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Lucius Malfoy stiffened his spine as he entered the Audience Chamber. There were several fellow Death Eaters in attendance. This could end very badly or very favourably. He pushed the thoughts of failure away as he approached the dais, bowed low and waited to be acknowledged.

"Your report, Malfoy."

A shiver went up the Malfoy's spine at the cool entrancing baritone. His Lord held power in his voice alone! His tongue and wits were uncanny. He had the ability to see what most others didn't. This trait had allowed him to leverage a small cadre of followers into a fighting force that were feared and spoken of in whispers! Soon his name would be on the lips of every witch and wizard in Wizarding Britain! And then Europe and the world!

Lucius started his report on Albus Dumbledore and Hogwarts. As a member of the Board of Governors he had an excuse to visit the school and observe. All throughout, His Lord listened without any visible reaction. At the end of it His Lord spoke.

"And what of the new DADA instructor, Hermia Grangston?"

Lucius hesitated a fractional second before speaking. "My Lord, may I speak candidly?"

Reddish eyes widened a fraction before the handsome head nodded. "You may."

"She is good. Probably much better than the average Auror." He hesitated. "She may even be a match for one of us. Not you or Dumbledore but myself or McNair and Yaxley. She is powerful, intelligent, and creative."

Voldemort frowned slightly. "Grangston is not a wizarding family."

"She is a Half-Blood. A descendant from the squib branch of the Dagworth-Granger potioneers who emigrated to the colonies. Her mother was a near Squib who married a Canadian Mudblood wizard. They were killed in a Muggle train mishap. A spinster aunt from the Dagworth family took her in and home schooled her."

Voldemort blinked surprised. "Home schooled?"

"Yes. The aunt was a contemporary of Dumbledores. Helena Dagworth."

That sent a small ripple of surprise throughout the Audience Chamber.

Each and every single one of the more intellectual Death Eaters knew who Helena Dagworth was. A highly respected protagonist of Albus Dumbledore. She had been a very vocal critic on the falling standards of education and inadequate schooling provided on Pureblooded culture and traditions for Hogwarts students. Since her death eight years ago the faction of moderates, those in the Ministry and Wizengamot who had actively supported Pureblooded culture, had fractured and fallen apart.

"I didn't know Madame Dagworth had a niece," Bellatrix Lestrange commented softly.

"Neither did I," Lucius confessed. "A few of my contacts in the Ministry reported something even more interesting. She has been seen in the Department of Mysteries." Voldemort leaned forward suddenly interested in what he was hearing. Encouraged Lucius continued. "At least once a fortnight she makes a day trip to London usually on the weekend. She spends most of her time in the Department of Mysteries or in Gringotts. The Goblins refused to share any information on her activities. Some call her a Special Client or Goblin-friend. Occasionally she makes side trips to Knockturn Alley. Mainly for artifacts and samples she uses in demonstrations. Sometimes she sells rare potions ingredients. Basilisk venom and blood. Manticore bile and blood. Acromantula venom. Sea Serpent scale. Dragonsbane. No one has been able to determine her sources but she is licensed as a Procurer and Hunter with the ICW."

McNair sputtered. "That's impossible! All Hunters need a license from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And we have not issued one to a British witch in twenty years."

"She would not need one if she is working for the Department of Mysteries." Lucius pointed out bluntly. "She probably keeps a percentage of her kills as her fee."

"But we haven't received any reports of any of those creatures!" McNair pointed out. "Those beasts are dangerous! Even Hunters go in teams and request back-up from my Department for Class X creatures."

Lucius shrugged and turned to his pensive lord. "I don't know if she is hunting alone or with a team. But either way she has access to resources that could only benefit us. The rarity of those ingredients alone could easily finance a great deal of our expenses. And she does not support Dumbledore. In fact she has clashed with him on several instances. All my observations and spies agree on that point."

Voldemort considered the information before making a decision.

"Despite her unfortunate lineage she does have some potential. She will need to be coaxed into seeing our views and supporting our cause." He looked around at his followers. "Any volunteers?"

There were many.

An auburn haired male with pale skin and dark brown eyes dressed in chocolate brown robes made a soft disgusted sound that drew Voldemort's attention.

"Rosier?"

Evan Rosier stiffened. "My lord may I speak freely?"

"Regarding Hermia Grangston, yes."

"The likes of Yaxley and McNair will never persuade her."

"And why do you say this Rosier?" Voldemort asked mildly.

"My niece is in Slytherin and she has written letters describing her DADA instructor. Hermia Grangston is an intellectual. She does not attend every single Quidditch match and takes pleasure in assigning detention to the Gryffindor Quidditch players during their practice sessions. She enjoys causing chaos by ignoring convention and creating dissent and polarizing factions. Some of her debates cause witches to argue against wizards, and even Slytherins and Gryffindors to unite. She destroys the underpinnings of faulty logic and forces them to start anew. She freely admits she disagrees with the Ministry on the classifications of Magicks, especially Blood, Dark and Void Magic. She bends most rules and ignores the rest."

A golden-haired blonde in navy blue robes, Peter Greengrass, nodded in agreement. "One of the challenges she created for the older students is to break into a specially warded chamber and to navigate the labyrinth to the center. The students who complete it before the end of the year would get hundred points for their House. So far none have succeeded but she does give five points for each layer penetrated. She also selects two sixth year students as aides each term, and gives them extra lessons as rewards. So far she has only selected Slytherins and Hufflepuffs and my cousin Anastasia hopes she will be selected for the next term."

A darkly-complexioned, dark-eyed stocky wizard nodded and added his two cents. "My youngest brother Braddock was her aide last year. She taught him how to use Runes and Arithmancy in dueling, to prepare a dueling field in advance and on the spot. His marks have improved enough for a Gringotts apprenticeship in curse breaking or warding. I owe her for taking the extra time and effort. Most of the instructors ignore Braddock because he is a Flint and isn't as quick as the other students." Thaddeus Flint grumbled in gravelly tones.

"She does not tolerate stupidity, infidelity or sloth." Narcissa Black murmured softly. She glanced at her fiancé before speaking more loudly. "I spoke with her briefly while waiting for Lucius. She made a comment about the common masculine tendency to falter in the face of temptation or adversity. After watching her maneuver Dumbledore into admitting an additional unit on Pureblood dueling and parley etiquette would be educational I had to agree." She looked around with a sly knowing look that caused the males in the room to stiffen.

Bellatrix crowed. "Sweet Nimue! Wish I could have seen That!"

A slight smile curved Voldemort's lips. He too was imagining the picture of Dumbledore, the master manipulator being manipulated.

"Does anyone have any suggestions on a suitable male who can convert her to our side?"

Bellatrix glanced at the man standing next to her. Rodolphus Lestrange cleared his throat.

"My Lord, I would suggest my younger brother Rabastan. He is currently in Moscow completing his Mastery in Arithmancy but he is definitely supportive of our cause. In his last letter he said he will be finished with his Mastery before the end of the month. Afterwards he will return to Britain and take your Mark. He is reasonably attractive and not betrothed or in a relationship. He is an intellectual and not one to concede in any battle. He is more likely to commit infidelity with books than another witch."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "I will meet with your brother when he returns to England. I may delay giving him the Mark if he is the best wizard to convert Hermia Grangston to our cause. It would not do to give her a reason to refuse him."

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Hermione made swift notes, her mind half focused on what the Headmaster was droning about, the other half intent on potential modifications for next terms lesson plans. She wanted to include a component on other magical areas of study than the conventional Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, and Potions. Most of the students did not have the correct background to grasp Runes or Arithmancy but perhaps history, recreating a battleground or war games…

"And we will be having an esteemed guest staying with us for the remainder of the year."

Esteemed guest? Pale brown eyes focused sharply. "Guest?"

The Headmaster nodded slightly. "A visiting scholar who has completed his second Mastery in Arithmancy. He wishes to use the Hogwarts Library for private research. In return he is offering advanced attendance-optional lectures on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"Does this scholar have a name Albus?" Edwina Glyphsfee, the Arithmancy instructor, murmured softly but distinctly. She was not the sort to welcome unexpected change.

"Yes. Rabastan Lestrange."

That set off a stir of mixed responses -interest and dismay- from the Hogwarts staff.

Hermione ignored them and sat up straighter. "Lestrange? Rabastan Lestrange? I thought access to the Hogwarts library was restricted to Hogwarts alumni and Ministry employees."

Her shields tightened when Dumbledore looked in her direction. "Yes. He is not a Hogwarts alumni but his elder brother Rodolphus is married to one, Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. She is Lucius Malfoy's sister-in-law and as we all know Lord Malfoy is on the Board of Governors. They were quite insistent on granting access to a notable Master."

Rabastan Lestrange was an Arithmancy and Runes Master? She had never seen or heard of anything remotely intellectual concerning the younger Lestrange brother. In the time she came from he was just another front line fighter, part of Voldemorts Inner Circle. And a torture specialist who participated in many atrocities, including driving Neville's parents insane.

Surely her presence here had not caused so much change! She had not even met him in this time! In her time, the first time she met him was after the Azkaban breakout. And all three Lestranges had been quite manic and unhinged from exposure to the Dark Arts and the years in Azkaban. She bit her full lower lip thoughtfully.

"Do you know where Master Lestrange studied?" She inquired neutrally.

Dumbledore nodded shallowly. "Both he had his brother are Beaubaxton graduates. He completed his Runes Mastery in Athena Academy for Symbologic Magicks. His Arithmancy Mastery was completed at the Romanov Magical Institute." Both were exclusive advanced learning institutions who only accepted the best of the best. No one could buy an acceptance letter into either one. Dumbledore's expression turned a fraction graver. "But I must caution all of you to be careful in your dealings with him. The Lestranges are allied with the Malfoys and Blacks. Respected, powerful, wealthy families that support the Pureblood cause. Lucius Malfoy has been pushing for a great deal of undesirable changes in Hogwarts and the Ministry. But on the other hand, we must make him welcome. He will be living in Hogwarts and interacting with us formally and informally."

There was a murmur of agreement from everyone seated around the table. Hermione made a soft humming sound but said nothing. Dumbledore sighed softly and continued.

"He will be arriving on New Years Day, two days before the students return."

And then the conversation turned to other matters. Hermione tried to focus on the topics at hand but her attention was divided.

Rabastan Lestrange was coming to Hogwarts. Had he taken the Mark already? Was there a possibility of diverting him from his path? Did she dare take such a risk?

Her eyes and thoughts were troubled. This would require a great deal of thought. But first she had to see and speak to him herself. In person.

Despite the potential for disaster Hermione found herself looking forward to the upcoming meeting with the Lestrange scion.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Hermione smiled gently as she shook out the skirts of her eggplant robes. The action caused the heavy material to shimmer as light reflected on the black silk embroidery and jet beadwork. A tad elaborate but well suited for a first meeting with a Pureblood scion and Master.

She watched from a distance as Albus introduced Rabastan Lestrange to the staff in order of seniority. As one of the newer instructors she was down the line. She did not mind. It gave her the chance to study him.

He looked young; too young for a double Mastery. Hermione knew few witches or wizards ever managed to achieve even one Mastery. Most were content with NEWTs or Apprenticeships that netted a Journeyman status.

They were standing before her now. Hermione focused on examining Lestrange. Brown hair so dark it was almost black restrained in a queue. Blue eyes so dark they were almost black, cobalt blue shot with silver striations in the iris. Sharp, defined features, a narrow aquiline nose over thin lips separated by a deep indent. A strong, square chin with a deep cleft with faint lines bracketing his mouth.

He looked similar to the Rabastan Lestrange she knew but Not.

"Mr Lestrange, Miss Hermia Grangston, our DADA instructor. Hermia, Master Rabastan Lestrange."

Gracefully she held out her hand palm down, fingers arranged in a gesture indicating interest in Pureblood etiquette.

Cobalt blue eyes narrowed as he observed her opening gambit. If he bowed over her hand he was neutral. If he took her hand and bowed he was open to start an interaction. If he kissed the back of her hand he was romantically interested in her. If he nodded with no other action he considered her an inferior, unworthy of the protection rules of Pureblooded etiquette.

He took her hand and bowed over it keeping the minimum distance required between his lips and her skin. And she felt the warmth of his fingertips brushing against her inner wrist, against her pulse.

She smiled faintly. How intriguing.

"Master Lestrange." Her voice was low and throaty.

"Miss Grangston." His voice was deep and rich. Reserved yet intriguing. Quite a welcome change from the cracking adolescent voices and boyish tenors of the students and the whispery or high-pitched voice of the male staff. "Please accept my belated condolences for your late aunt. Her passing was a great loss."

Gold eyes widened in shock. Her aunt? Oh! Helena Dagworth. She bowed her head shallowly. "Thank you for your kind words Master Lestrange."

And then Dumbledore moved to the next person in line; Ignatius Wagsworth, the Muggle Studies instructor.

She was very aware of his interest, of cobalt blue eyes studying her discreetly, but she carefully kept her eyes away from the new addition to Hogwarts. There would be time to plan and execute her decisions later on. Now was the time for observation.

~o~

Minerva McGonagall watched the delicate dance, bemused and slightly worried for her friend. Rabastan Lestrange was a young attractive wizard who was clearly interested in the young DADA instructor. He was also a member of a clan of strong Pureblooded traditionalists. Hermia was a Half-Blood at best, a step above a Muggleborn but not a suitable association for a Pureblood Traditionalist. Rabastan Lestrange might not be as fanatic as the others but he was bound to obey Family Rules.

"Hermia?"

Light brown eyes turned towards the Gryffindor Head of House. "Yes Minerva?"

"Do you understand what you are doing?" Minerva waved at Rabastan Lestrange who was deep in a discussion with Edwina Glyphsfee and Horace Slughorn. Oddly, the Potions instructor was not an active participant but a clearly engrossed listener. The subject topic had to be fascinating to silence Horace who was one who would rather toot his own horn than listen. "Lestrange is a Pureblood."

"I know."

"His is a younger son and subject to the Head and Heir."

"I know."

"His sister-in-law is a well-known Pureblooded fanatic. Bellatrix Black skirted the borderline when she was a student and I have no doubt she freely crossed the line since her graduation."

"I know."

"I can't dissuade you, can I?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Hermia smiled clearly amused. "There is nothing to dissuade me From. I have not made any decisions as yet."

Minerva made a scoffing sound. "But you are clearly leaning towards him." She jerked her chin towards the young Arithmancy Master.

Hermia laughed softly. "He intrigues me but you know me Minerva… if he does not engage my interest after five long interactions I know he is not for me."

Minerva huffed. "So far the only one who has intrigued you is a ghost. A nom de plume!"

Hermia grinned. "Oh, so you're not impressed by my secret admirer?" She teased the older witch gently.

Minerva smiled. "Oh I am! I am definitely impressed by this wizard who has actually managed to successfully hide his identity despite your attempts to unmask him." She smiled slyly. "Are you sure it is not a student?"

The younger witch laughed out loud. "Definitely. His gifts and writing style are much too mature for a callow adolescent." Her look turned thoughtful. "He has a broad range of knowledge in so many different fields. A true Renaissance wizard." She bit her lower lip. "I think he is one much older than me."

"Would it make a difference?" Minerva asked seriously.

Hermia thought hard and shook her head. "Not really. But it does make me curious to know just how he knows so much of me." She smiled sheepishly. "It would be embarrassing if he turns out to be a student's father. Or grandfather!"

Minerva blinked at that scenario and shook her head slightly. "Don't go borrowing trouble. You do not know anything and are proceeding in good faith, trusting he is honourable." Her eyes narrowed. "But promise me you will not go and meet him."

The younger witch nodded vigorously. "Of course! If he wishes to meet me he can come to Hogwarts and seek a proper introduction!"

"Minerva, do you mind if I speak to Hermia?"

The two witches turned to the Headmaster.

The Transfiguration instructor blinked taken aback by the interruption. "Of course Albus." She smiled at the younger witch. "Do stop by my quarters when you have a free moment Hermia." And then she gracefully retreated.

~o~

Hermione marshalled her defences. She was irked at the interruption. It was such a joy to see Minerva look so young and relaxed, unwearied by the burdens of war and loss. Hermione hated anything that ended such moments but it was not a good time to make a scene. "What do you wish to discuss with me Headmaster?"

Pale blue eyes studied her intently. Almost boring into her brain. But Hermione had survived six years under Potions Master Severus Snape and a war against Death Eaters. Dumbledore was an amateur in intimidation.

"I want you to cease and desist in whatever plans you have involving Rabastan Lestrange."

Hermione blinked, taken aback by that blunt order.

A slender eyebrow rose archly and a firm dimpled chin lowered even as dark lashes lowered to block her vision of the Old Fool. It would not help her plans if she lost control. Once the initial heated reaction had cooled she looked straight at Dumbledore.

"Would you care to explain why you are making such demands?"

"Rabastan Lestrange is a serpent. He has been sent to sway you to his cause, the Pureblooded traditionalist factions."

Hermione made a soft scoffing sound. "You make him sound like the serpent in Biblical Eden. And I definitely don't see myself as a foolish and trusting Eve. I think I am more like one of Lilith's daughters."

The wizard blinked clearly taken aback by her counter. "You prefer to be a hell spawn?"

Hermione scoffed. "The Lilith of Muggle Biblical tradition was a strong woman who refused to be subjected to rules. And she accepted the cost to stand alone and apart even as she fought it in any way she could." Her eyes met his squarely. "I am not weak Albus. And I am definitely not prejudiced like you. I do not judge based on hearsay and family relations. If he wishes to change my mind I will listen to his argument and make my own points. If he impresses me enough I may or may not adjust my views to include his." She cocked her head to one side. "You know Albus, you might be a Light Wizard but you are just as controlling as any Dark Lord." Albus recoiled and Hermione took advantage to press her point. "You refuse to accept any other view or truth but your own. You force your own beliefs down the throats of others. Most accept it but some don't. And you condemn them for that. By your own actions you are simply driving them to other factions that allow them to practice their own beliefs, to exercise their free will."

"I'm not Dark." He whispered in a strangled voice.

She looked at him with knowing eyes. "Of course Albus. I'm sure Gellert and Ariana would agree that you are a perfect man who never made bad choices."

He froze. "You know."

"I know a lot Albus. You know of my association with the Department of Mysteries." She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring wide. "Look. Just leave me alone. Do not try to control me. Do not try to guilt me. You will not like the results."

He did not respond.

Satisfied she had made her point she walked away. She really wanted to know what Lestrange was discussing with Edwina and Horace.

~o~

Rabastan retreated gracefully keeping out of sight of both Hermia Grangston and Albus Dumbledore. How intriguing! Albus Dumbledore had skeletons and Hermia Grangston knew just where they were buried! What a positively intriguing witch! To make such an openly challenging statement regarding the Light Lord! To call him a Dark Lord!

Perhaps this would not be an odorous duty as he had first believed. She might not have had the fortune to be born Pureblood but she definitely was no weak-willed witch to follow Dumbledore like the rest of the sheep.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Minerva McGonagall had to restrain a smile as she watched the youngest staff member remove a small package and letter from a post owl.

"Well? Is it from Him?"

It had become an expected routine. For the past few months every Saturday morning the DADA instructor would receive a package and letter from her unknown suitor. Each package had contained a small bejewelled square charm made of silver and a variety of green and blue gemstones set in abstract patterns. Minerva suspected there was some hidden message or meaning in the gifts but for the life of her she could not determine it.

A small knowing smile curved the younger witch's lips as she lifted out a silver square set with tiny emerald chips and held it out for Minerva to examine. Past pendants had been set with sapphires, aquamarines, blue topazes, turquoise, peridot and jade.

"Emeralds." Pomona Sprout sighed softly. She too had been intrigued by Hermia's secret admirer. But despite efforts from the staff and some students the identity of the wizard remained unknown.

"Yes." Hermia murmured as she touched the bejewelled surface before running her finger around the edges. Then she smiled more broadly.

If Minerva were in her Animagus form her ears would have perked.

"You know something!" She accused in a light-hearted tone.

Hermia looked up and grinned. "Of course I know something," she teased the older witch.

"Well?" Poppy Pomfrey leaned forward, eager to know as well.

Hermia just laughed. "I'm not saying Poppy." Then she smirked naughtily. "That's for me to know and you to figure out."

"You can't leave us hanging like this!" Pomona protested.

Hermia shook her head. "Oh yes I can. I like this one. He interests me. Besides, I'm not ready for the game to end too quickly."

"So you don't know who he is?" Poppy wanted to know.

Hermia shrugged slightly. "I have speculations. Nothing absolute."

And nothing could persuade her to loosen her tongue. As Minerva listened to her female colleagues bicker and chatter she dwelled upon her relationship with the youngest staff member.

When Albus had first brought the unknown young witch in as the DADA instructor she had believed him mad. It had taken only two weeks for Minerva to realize Hermia Grangston was one of the best (if not the best) DADA instructors in all the years Minerva had taught at Hogwarts. It wasn't like they were the same. Yes, Hermia Grangston was powerful, knowledgeable, skilled, brave, forthright… But she was also had an enduring core of pure steel that refused to bow or follow conventional wisdom. She would walk her own path, create her own faction, lead by example not just words. This often put her on cross-paths with Albus but Minerva had to respect a witch who followed her beliefs without compromise.

Once the other witches drifted away from the Head Table Minerva spoke softly.

"Hermia, have you really tried to find out who your Secret Admirer is? I mean, you had lots of other owls delivering gifts. You've always figured out the one responsible and returned the gift within a few hours."

The DADA instructor stroked the square silver charm lightly as she answered.

"Students are easy to backtrack. He is not. His gifts and letters are treated with special spells that remove magical traces. An unconventional obscure spell. It requires a great deal of control and patience to remove all traces without damaging enchantments."

Minerva was troubled. "He sounds like a criminal. Who else has reason to learn and use such a spell?"

"It is one of the first spells taught to Unspeakables and Hitwizards." Hermia pointed out mildly.

Minerva blushed at the unspoken rebuke but she pressed on. "But still…"

Hermia smiled brilliantly as she tucked the charm into the velvet pouch it came in and slipped it and the letter into her robe pocket. "Don't worry about me Minerva. I'm not going to run off and meet a total stranger simply because he intrigues me." She stood up and picked up her half-finished bran muffin. "By the way, I have plans for the rest of the day Minerva. Don't be surprised if I don't show up for lunch or dinner. I'll probably ask the house-elves for a tray of sandwiches or soup."

Minerva watched the younger witch walk out of the Great Hall with some concern that she pushed away. Hermia was too sensible to act in a rash manner and risk her safety. She would not do anything foolish.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Rabastan Lestrange resisted the urge to fidget under dark blue eyes that were a near perfect colour match for his. Except these eyes were cloudy with age and filled with a knowing light tinted with a hint of disgust.

"So you have found yourself in over your head Rabastan. And now like a frightened child you seek the protection of your elders."

The younger wizard resisted the urge to flinch. Why did great-uncle Sebastian have to be such a prick? Why did he have to make it so hard? Rabastan was doing the best he could!

Then –as though reading his mind– Sebastian Lestrange, Head of the Lestrange Clan, spoke answering Rabastan's unvoiced question.

"I want you to examine and catalogue all the facts and factors that influenced your initial decision. And your current attempts to unmake it." The grey streaked head of brown-black hair tilted to one side. "It is the only way to learn and remember so you do not repeat it."

Rabastan bowed his head shallowly and breathed deeply as he lifted his head. Then he looked away, focusing on a stained glass window depicting abstract designs between two columns of book shelves.

"I am a younger son and a disappointment to my parents. Rodolphus was the only one who cared when I was younger. He protected me, defended me, and supported my desire to study. Mother and Father said it was not 'suitable' for a Pureblood wizard to do so. They wanted me to marry some Pureblood witch to make alliances and enrich the family vaults." Blue eyes met blue. "Rodolphus shielded me from that. He married Bellatrix Black even though he was not really interested in marrying her. I feel like I owe him."

"According to my reports he seems quite happy with her."

Rabastan shrugged. "I don't know. He's changed. She changed him. Uncle Sebastian, I don't know, or what happened. His letters made perfect sense to me. I support the cause, Muggleborns are diluting our culture. There is too much potential danger from exposure. Muggle radios and telephones… they all send information very quickly. If the wrong information gets out to the wrong people… there is a huge risk for a breach in the Statute of Secrecy.

"It makes sense to gather as much support as possible to make sure it doesn't happen. Helena Dagworth supported Pureblood traditions. Her niece was not a Dumbledore supporter so it didn't seem like a big deal. Just persuade her to openly support her aunt's cause. She was already doing it half-way."

"But it didn't work out the way you thought it would." Sebastian murmured softly.

"It didn't. I started by sending anonymous letters to develop a rapport, an understanding that I could use. Most women like secret admirers and it couldn't hurt."

"What happened?"

"She broke the anti-tracking charms and managed to create a reverse portkey on my post owl. It activated after Fidelius crossed my wards. It was quite a shock when he returned with a letter from her critiquing my technique in layering and anchoring."

Sebastian Lestrange smiled faintly at the bemusement and pride in his great-nephew's voice.

"What happened next?"

"She challenged me. The next letter had more advanced protections. She broke them too. It turned into a game; using different variations and techniques to trick her. Some worked, most didn't. It was quite fascinating reading her letters, her critiques. She made a few references to Muggle math and physics that intrigued me so much I went to a Muggle library to figure it out. I never realized how much outdated and irrelevant information was being taught in Muggle Studies. Muggles can do so much it terrifies me. When I pointed this out to her she was very calm in her counterpoints. Knowledge is Power. Ignorance is not Bliss. And the Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions."

"Why did you change your mind?"

"Oh I haven't. I still believe Muggles are a real threat. But I strongly disagree with the methods Rabastan's friends are using." Sebastian noted the expression of faint disgust that was quickly brought under control. "Hermia Grangston is brilliant. I have never met another with a mind as precise yet broad as hers. She has the knack to put seemingly unrelated bits together and make a completely different whole. The way her mind works… It's pure magic."

"You respect her. A halfblood."

Rabastan looked slightly concerned but he answered honestly. "Yes."

"And you trust her judgment. The basis for her decisions."

The younger wizards inhaled deeply. "Yes."

"And what of her views on Muggles?"

Now he was faintly troubled but he struggled to answer honestly. "She has a great deal of respect and wariness regarding Muggle ingenuity. She would prefer to work with them than to stand against them and to be honest I do see her point. There are too many Muggles and not enough of Us."

"And what about your current… associates?" Sebastian inquired delicately. And he was pleased by the expression of discontent and disillusionment on his great-nephew's face. Good. The boy was learning. He was not a lost cause.

Rabastan swallowed hard. "Voldemort makes promises but I do not see him don't anything to bring them about. The only activities his followers engage in are… brutal and very illegal." Blue eyes were very serious. "Uncle Sebastian… Rodolphus wasn't like this… so vicious. Ever since he married Bellatrix Black he's turned into this sadistic stranger who enjoys inflicting pain." He looked away briefly. "It is not good Uncle. Sooner or later he is going to get caught and bring scandal and shame upon the Clan. I tried talking to Father but he has refused to listen to me."

Sebastian Lestrange nodded slowly. "Pierre was always the short-sighted type. So is Rodolphus." Cloudy dark blue eyes were unexpectedly sharp and observant. "But it seems as though those traits have by-passed you. Quite fortunate." He thought hard for a few seconds before coming to a decision. "Have you taken the Dark Lord's Mark?"

This confused Rabastan. "Uncle?"

"Have you?"

"No. He said it would interfere in my…" He swallowed hard. "Courtship of Hermia Grangston."

"Good. Don't take it. Stall as long as possible. Claim to have started an intimate relationship with Grangston." Sebastian's expression turned grim. "Most of the British branch might be a loss but you are not Rabastan. With a lot of planning and a little bit of luck we might be able to salvage something of this mess."

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Hermione resisted the urge to retreat to her suite right after breakfast, to examine her latest gift in more detail. It was after teatime when she wrapped up the last of the extra sessions she ran for her special students. She had to resist the urge to run. It wouldn't do for the students to see a teacher running in the corridors!

She closed the door behind her and cast advanced alarm and privacy wards. She walked to her bedroom and stripped out of her heavy robes and sat on her bed cross-legged. Impatiently she loosened the knots of the red velvet pouch she held and emptied the contents on her bed.

Small squares of silvery metal set with blue and green chips of varying hues fell on the flannel bedspread under her. Her fingers trembled as she pulled a flat shallow wooden box close; the dimensions were approximately the same as a thick paperback. It was one of the first gifts that had indicated her Admirer had a strong personal interest in her.

Rune Puzzle Boxes were expensive hand-crafted masterpieces. Given that this one had no makers mark indicated her Admirer or someone very close to him had made it just for her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she moved the silvery squares around on the carved lid of the box, shifting pieces carefully feeling for just the right 'click'. The bejewelled design was deceptive. Someone solving a Muggle jigsaw puzzle worked to fit the pieces against each other using colour and shape to create a whole picture. Hermione's secret admirer had carved tiny runes on the sides of each piece. They had to Arithmatically Balance and Match against each other, on all four sides.

The last square fell into place. A soft glow covered the palm-sized bejewelled surface as it began to swirl in abstract designs. The glow spread to envelop the whole box. When it finally faded the jewelled chips had shifted and rearranged to create a very familiar crest. The square charms were also solidly embedded in the top of the box.

Hesitantly she reached out and tried open it. The lid came away easily to reveal a hollow cavity filled with a swatch of emerald green silk underneath a folded letter. Her breath caught in her throat. This would be an irrevocable step; she knew it in her heart of hearts.

Her common sense reminded her to check for curses and hexes and she did.

Her heart was torn between the desire to protect herself and the yearning to charge ahead.

Her Gryffindor courage did not let her down.

She reached out and removed the letter, carefully breaking the wax seal with the edge of one nail.

Slim fingers unfolded the parchment, flattening the creases as she began to read.

~o~

_Dearest Hermia,_

_Don't you think it is time we stop dancing around the issue and hiding behind veils. Society and Convention might hinder us in public but what happens between the two of us, in private, does not concern others. We have learned a great deal about each other through our correspondence but most of what we have discussed is intellectual with only the vaguest hints of something more. Your letters have enthralled and frustrated me. Written words are a good way to communicate but they lack the depths of verbal interaction._

_When you are ready to take the next step use my gift. I will be available and waiting most nights after ten. My name is the activation word._

_Do you know my name Dearest?_

~o~

Hermione placed the letter aside and carefully lifted the mass of green silk from the box and tugged the edges aside revealing an oval-ish mirror suspended in a silver frame etched with runes and symbols. The length and width of the mirror fit snugly against the inner walls of the runic puzzle box and had to be lifted straight up by fingers tucked against the curved edges.

She knew what it was. A communication mirror similar to what Sirius had given Harry in their Fifth year. Only the other mirror linked to this one was being held by her Secret Admirer.

She examined her reflection in the polished metal and glass. She was no longer the teenager who had believed in the Light as wholly right and the Dark as irredeemable. Carefully she put the mirror down and stood up.

She had essays to mark.

After completing her marking for both classes of Fourth-Year DADA, finishing off a meal of sandwiches and soup, and having a long hot bath she felt more calm and certain. She debated over her wardrobe before settling on a Japanese style kimono-robe. She sat on a comfortable overstuffed chair with the mirror in her lap. After some thought, she conjured a stand that usually held decorative plates in a Muggle home. With some experimentation she decided on the best angle and height for the stand. She placed the mirror on it and composed herself.

A faint enigmatic smile curved her lips as she spoke the name of her Secret Admirer, the wizard whose Clan crest decorated the lid of her runic puzzle box.

"Lestrange. Rabastan Lestrange."

It was time to up the ante.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Rabastan barely controlled the groan that nearly escaped him upon seeing her.

She was determined to drive him insane with lust.

He had to sit on his hands to resist the urge to reach out and touch her. Well, try and touch her.

Damn mirrors.

"Mia, you're killing me."

Hermia Grangston rolled on top of her queen-sized claret silk bedspread. She was dressed in just a matching set of cream silk and lace panties and bra that cupped and framed her generous curves. Her mane of sun-streaked brown curls flowed over her shoulder and back. A small toss of her head made her curves jiggle in a most enticing fashion.

A naughty smile curved glossy lips as she raised one knee casting a most interesting shadow between her legs. He could almost see her curls behind the thin cream silk from this angle.

He inhaled sharply as she rolled fluidly coming up on her knees before sitting on her heels, leaning forward slightly. The action caused her breasts to sway and her cleavage to deepen.

Her voice was low and throaty. "The mirrors were your idea Rab. To improve our relationship." She teased the wizard.

He cleared his throat. "I didn't plan on this." She raised an arch brow. "Okay I hoped for it. Never thought you'd be agreeable."

She cocked her head to one side. "Why wouldn't I be? I enjoy your company. I like your attention and interest. It excites me to know you desire me so much. I want you to know that."

He blinked taken aback by her blunt words. There had been a stilted hesitancy when they had first started using the mirrors. It had taken a very bad day and Mia losing enough control for the veneer of social polish to slip. She called his brother's cousin-in-law an overgrown horn dog that had to be neutered in order to protect future generations.

Rabastan had to agree given his observations of Sirius Black.

After that they felt sufficiently relaxed to verbally tease and flirt with each other. Words turned into truth-dare games that evolved into strip teases and hot-heavy seductions. And one night her voice was enough to break his control. He came apart like an untried teenager.

Mia called it mirror-sex, the magical equivalent of phone sex.

After that it became a challenge, to see who could make the other cum first, who would obey as dared without deviation. So far she was winning. There was nothing she was not willing to try. Rabastan wondered if she would be as willing in the flesh.

"Rab?"

"Yes Mia?"

"Do you see the cabinet in your room?"

Rabastan blinked taken aback by the abrupt change in topic. He looked over at the cabinet in question. It was an old-fashioned piece of furniture that blended in the shadows easily. He had never used it. The wardrobe and dresser was sufficient for his needs.

"Yes?"

"It is not the cabinet you had before." Time froze for an instant before she continued. "I have the matching one in my room."

Hope and lust surged, nearly breaking his control. "Mia?"

She looked away for an instant before meeting his eyes in the mirror. "The House Elves helped me locate a pair of Vanishing Cabinets. They've been glamoured and warded so no one but us can use them. If you want," She held out a hand before drawing it back suddenly shy. "I would like," Then she corrected herself a third time. "Please join me." She smiled hesitantly. "If you wish to that is."

He did not think twice about her invitation. He rose up quickly tightening the belt keeping his robe closed.

"Mia, ask the House Elves for a finger food tray. I'll be with you in five minutes."

~o~

Several hours later Hermione Granger woke in the arms of a man who would have been a Death Eater in another lifetime. Her fingers absently stroked the smooth unmarked skin of his left forearm.

"What is it?" His voice was deep and faintly rusty sounding from sleep.

"Just thinking."

"About what?" He shifted so he could see her face easily.

"You're not Marked."

Rabastan stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"Voldemort has not Marked you."

Swiftly he pushed himself into a sitting position. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh hush up Rab." She leveraged herself up, drawing the sheets to cover her breasts. Her expression was faintly wistful. "I was just surprised. I thought you would have been Marked like your brother."

He hesitated, clearly uncertain of what to say. She touched his cheek and smiled before she leaned forward to kiss him slowly and thoroughly.

"I don't know why you are not, but I am proud of you. For not following the herd."

He was quiet for a while.

"Dolph is my brother."

"Yes."

"He's becoming a monster."

She hesitated before agreeing. "Yes."

"I don't know what to do." He confessed. "My British relatives are pressuring me to join."

She honed in on the qualifier. "British? What of your other relatives?"

"The French branch of the Clan does not like the Dark Lord's methods."

"If you ask for help will they provide it?"

"Yes. Within limits."

She nodded firmly. "Good." Then she eyed him sharply. "Have you made a choice?"

"I do not want to join him." He confessed softly.

"Then you do not have to. I will help you Rab. I swear it. But you have to promise me something Rab."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll hold your ground. No matter what happens you'll live each day as it comes with no regrets."

"Mia-."

"Promise me."

His voice was low and hoarse as he complied. "I swear it. Upon my magic I so swear."

Hermione Granger smiled brilliantly. Rabastan Lestrange would not become a Death Eater. She hoped this change –one of many if she were lucky– would help set off a cascade effect; butterfly wings to fuel a storm system on the other side of the world.

She refused to believe the future was set in stone. The future was what one made of it.

Carpe Diem.

Seize the Day.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued in Part II.


	2. Carpe Diem II (1) The Sundering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone is happy with the couple and forces conspire to tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several months after the end of the last chapter. Just before the end of the school year.

"Master Lestrange, there is someone at your door."

"Merlin's bollocks!" Rabastan Lestrange rolled out of old-fashioned four-poster bed, grabbing his robe, thrusting arms into the sleeves as the sleepy woman in the bed sat up, holding the quilt close against the cool air; her bare shoulders indicated she was nude or nearly so. He turned and leaned down to brush a kiss against her lips. "Sorry luv, see you at breakfast."

With that he darted towards a particular cabinet set in a far corner. The cabinet did not contain anything, in fact it was one of a pair of Vanishing Cabinets. Anything and anyone placed in one would appear in the other in less than a second. This particular cabinet's match was set in Rab's suite. It gave them privacy to visit each other without being spotted by students, gossipy portraits and ghosts. Rab gave her a painting belonging to a Lestrange ancestor, while keeping another copy in his own suite. When someone knocked on the door the portrait would alert the lovers if they were in the others room.

Hermione Granger, a.k.a Hermia Grangston, sighed and settled back after a quick look at the clock. She could sleep in for another thirty minutes. She could but found she couldn't; there was too much on her mind.

It had been three years since she had been thrust into the past, five months since she had first met Rab, two since she had taken him into her bed and heart; it was almost the end of the school year and she wanted to ask Rab to spend time with her over the summer. She was certain he had plans that would conflict with hers… but she hoped they could at least meet. Hermione was sincerely debating the possibility of handing in her notice. If she worked for the Department of Mysteries full-time she would have more flexibility in her private life than if she remained as a Hogwarts instructor.

With her mind going full-tilt she gave up on sleeping in and rolled out of bed herself. An extra fifteen minutes on her yoga routine and a long hot soak wouldn't hurt.

~o~

Rabastan jogged slowly through the lesser known corridors leading to the Great Hall. He was thankful Hermia had shown him the shortcuts to get around the place. As he reached his destination he slowed to a more decorous pace and joined the rest of the staff on the dais.

"Good morning," he murmured as he slipped into the chair on the DADA instructor's left side. Everyone knew Rabastan always sat on her left side.

Hermia smiled up at him. "Good morning," she responded more loudly before biting into her toast.

Rabastan served himself quickly and began working on his bacon and eggs. He had an appointment in the Ministry at ten and needed to review his notes.

"In a rush?" she asked idly as she poured a cup of tea for him, and prepared it with a dash of lemon and one sugar, just the way he liked it.

"Hmm, yes. At ten," he answered between quick bites.

Just then an eagle owl flew down towards them, landing in front of Hermia. Cautiously she removed the letter while ignoring the velvet pouch attached to the owl.

"What is it?" he asked.

Swiftly she scanned the message and made a face. Without answering she folded the parchment and tucked it back into the velvet pouch before shooing the owl away. The bird was reluctant to leave without completing its delivery.

"I'm not interested," she told it firmly before glancing towards the Gryffindor table, and a particular hopeful face. "Take it back to the sender."

"What is it?" Rabastan asked feeling more concerned.

"It's from Sirius Black. I would recognize his messy scrawl anywhere!"

The wizard chuckled. "And this makes it the what? The eighth attempt at courting you? He's pretty persistent for a student with a crush."

She made a face. "Crush or not I would prefer he keep it to himself! Like all the other boys mooning over me!"

Blue eyes sharpened. "You sound concerned. Is there something I don't know?"

She sighed and was silent before responding. "Oh, I don't know. I know he's just a boy, but he's a Black. And a dangerously impulsive teenager. A dangerous combination." She took a sip of her own tea. "I don't understand why he's so persistent! I made it pretty clear I'm not interested in him." She smiled at him. "That there's already someone important in my life."

Rabastan smirked. "You're the youngest female teacher in Hogwarts. A mature beautiful powerful witch. What's not to like?"

He did not flinch when she lightly punched him in the bicep. "Oh you!"

He merely laughed and turned his attention to his breakfast. He did not show any reaction when he felt her bare foot rub against his trouser-clad calf. Rabastan was surprised by his own reaction. Or non-reaction. But then again Sirius Black was a boy, not a man and a real threat to his relationship with Mia.

Relief and elation soared within him when he realized this was more evidence that she was bonding to him, she saw Him as part of her future. In that moment Rabastan felt certain everything would be okay. Between Mia and Uncle Sebastian they would figure something out to handle with Voldemort.

~o~

Sirius Black frowned when he saw Professor Grangston fold his letter and tuck it in the pouch before chasing the post owl away.

"Ohh burn!" James Potter hissed in his best friend's ear. "This makes it the ninth time."

Sirius glared at James. "And you aren't doing any better at wooing Lily."

James cocked his head. "At least Lily is a student and in my house. Grangston is a Professor! She's not going to see you as a boyfriend."

"I overheard McGonagall speaking to Sprout," Peter offered. "Something about Grangston already having a boyfriend."

"What?" Sirius cried out in disbelief.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

The days that followed were tense as Sirius Black tried to disprove Peter's words. No matter how hard he tried everything he uncovered seemed to prove it was true: Hermia Grangston had a secret lover – a witch as mature and attractive as she wouldn't have a Boyfriend, she'd have a lover or husband.

Finally he asked James for the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak. Using both he snuck out of the Gryffindor Tower and set about tracking down the DADA instructor on the Map.

Angry shocked grey eyes honed in on one particular pair of moving dots, very close to each other in one of the guest suites: Hermia Grangston and Rabastan Lestrange. He magnified that section of the parchment. The dots remained almost on top of each other, or right next to each other, occasionally passing across each other.

Sirius had only seen this effect a few times before – when a couple of students were going at it in broom closets or hidden corners. He could almost see it in his mind's eye: that bloody Dark Wizard shagging Hermia, her letting him do That to her. His vision went red with rage and envy. He wanted to hurt him, to hurt her, to make them pay for betraying him. The only thing on his mind was revenge. But how?

He could go to Dumbledore or McGonagall, but it was clear they were being very discreet; it's hard to prove they were an immoral example to the students when they were only doing it in their rooms and being polite in public.

Immoral… an idea sparked to life. Sirius Black scrambled for the Owlery. He had a letter to send.

Thirty minutes later Remus Lupin woke up in his bed. Someone was moving around the dorm, and not very discreetly either. He pushed the curtains aside and saw Sirius tucking a rolled parchment and shimmering bundle into James's trunk.

"What is it Siri?" he asked softly. He did not want to wake the other boys.

His friend turned to face him and Remus felt a chill run down his spine. There was something in his look, a maddened gleeful expression… He was out of the bed and standing next to the Black scion.

"What did you do?" he demanded in soft but harsh tones.

Sirius smirked. "I sent a letter to Mother."

Remus frowned. "About what?"

"Trixie's brother-in-law, Rabastan, he's sleeping with a Half-Blood witch."

The fog of sleep cleared from werewolf's mind. His mind worked rapidly, connecting facts and speculations. There was only one Half-Blood witch that had been the focus of his friend's attention: Professor Grangston. If Sirius was right Hermia Grangston was sleeping with Rabastan Lestrange. His stomach knotted. He liked Professor Grangston, and Lestrange was a surprisingly decent and intelligent bloke. He was a bit snobby but he was willing to help the older students if he was interested.

"Why did you do such a thing?" he hissed, irate at his friend. Rabastan Lestrange might be a Dark Wizard but if anyone could turn him to the light Professor Grangston could. Hell! She probably had if he was serious enough to respect her reputation.

Sirius glared at Remus. "Because." And with that he slipped into his own bed drawing the curtains closed.

Remus stared at the velvet barriers sorely tempted to tear them open and yell at his friend. Of all the boneheaded stunts! He retreated to his own bed hoping the fallout wouldn't be too disastrous.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Voldemort frowned as he scanned an old letter from Walburga Black. She was not one of His but she was a Pureblood Traditionalist. He rolled the parchment and put it away with a thoughtful expression. He picked up a glass of wine and sipped it slowly.

Why hadn't Rabastan reported his progress? His mission was to seduce and turn Hermia Grangston from the light. True, he was lowering himself by actually sleeping with the muddy witch but it was a sacrifice Voldemort had asked of him. Why was he hiding his success?

Voldemort became more concerned as his thoughts turned in different directions. If Rabastan hadn't reported his success, what other things was he not reporting?

There was a soft knock at the door before it opened and Amycus Carrow entered.

"My Lord, we have secured our objective."

Blood red eyes flared as Dark Lord put his glass down. "Any losses?"

Carrow winced. "Nine killed, six injured seriously enough that the Healers aren't sure if they'll survive the night. The rest have bad but treatable wounds."

Voldemort did not betray his shock though he felt it. He had ordered four of his inner circle to lead a group of sixteen to capture Hermia Grangston. "The leaders?"

"Lucius Malfoy is wounded but he will survive. Thaddeus Nott is dead. Antonin Dolohov may or may not survive the night." Carrow hesitated before continuing. "Rookwood had to break cover in the Department of Mysteries. If he didn't she might have succeeded in escaping."

"Where is she?"

"In the warded cell. As you ordered."

Voldemort nodded. "I shall be summoning the Inner Circle for a gathering in two hours."

Amycus Carrow bowed and backed out of the room.

Voldemort picked up his glass and sipped the wine. Hermia Grangston was turning out to be a more powerful witch than he'd anticipated. His followers were boastful and prone to exaggeration, and by that token they were very reluctant to reveal any weaknesses or failures – it was not the Slytherin thing to do. For Carrow to admit they might have failed was very telling.

But it did not matter; he had the witch. And if Rabastan did not have a very good explanation for his actions she would pay the price.

~o~

Rabastan Lestrange was tense. The message was a summons he could not avoid. He wished Hermia had returned from her meeting with her DoM contact. He did not feel comfortable leaving without informing her… and this was too sensitive to trust to an owl so he'd settled for leaving a letter in her runic puzzle box and activating the puzzle protection.

It was unnerving, being the focus of so much attention. There were a few compassionate looks that made the younger Lestrange more uneasy. What had happened? Did Voldemort suspect something? There were too many Death Eaters to successfully fight his way out.

"Rabastan."

The wizard stiffened and bowed deeply. "My lord." Then he watched as Voldemort strode from the side-entrance and took his seat on the single throne-like seat on the dais. He was very aware of the Inner Circle moving into a semi circle – arranged based seniority, influence and alliance- at his back. Rabastan struggled not to break under the cold blood red gaze.

"You have been keeping secrets Rabastan."

Rabastan inhaled deeply. "Which secrets do you refer to my Lord?"

"Hermia Grangston."

He knew. He knew! "I have been working on strengthening her interest in me," he spoke carefully, uncertain of how much the Dark Lord knew.

"She is your lover," Voldemort countered flatly. He caught the eyes of Amycus Carrow who stepped out of the archway.

Rabastan inhaled sharply seeing the battered form of his lover being dragged into the room between two masked Death Eaters. She made a soft sound as they tossed her on the stone floor between him and the dais, practically at the Dark Lord's feet.

He did not move as she pushed herself to her knees, then her feet using the dais as leverage. Her robes were torn and dirt-stained, gaping to reveal the odd wide-legged navy blue silk pants and the cream embroidered maroon silk cheongsam she favoured. She rubbed the back of her hand over her split lip and straightened.

"Tom Riddle, I presume."

Everyone froze. Red eyes narrowed and nostrils flared.

"What did you say?" The Dark Lord's voice was poisonous.

"That is your name, is it not?" she murmured in a soft but carrying voice. "Thomas Marvolo Riddle, born to Merope Gaunt and Thomas Riddle." She cocked her head. "A pity you embarked on this foolish crusade. You could have done great things, much greater than rallying a small percentage of Wizarding society for baseless reasons."

That enraged the Dark Lord.

"Crucio!"

And missed. Despite being bruised and weakened she twisted gracefully, almost dancing out of the way. The spell energies hit the stone floor and dissipated.

"Is that all you've got?"

He jumped off the dais casting spells one after another, almost recklessly casting spells that she ducked and avoided, spells that hit his own followers who saw what was happening and retreated seeking defensible positions (mainly the stone pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling.

And they saw despite being beaten and wounded, despite being wandless, she was somehow holding her own… against the Dark Lord. For the first time Rabastan felt a surge of hope. It was a slim chance, but if Hermia had a wand she just might win this duel.

And all throughout Hermia Grangston laughed, and mocked, and critiqued the Dark Lord's performance, his technique and choice of spells. One particular Incendio spell set her robes on fire. She merely shrugged the burning garment off and tossed it at the Dark Lord before making an odd gesture. The flames contracted then expanded rapidly, shaping into the maw of a massive dragon heading straight for Voldemort.

Hastily he raised a shield. The fire dragon impacted against it and split into smaller flames that dissipated. Warily now the Dark Lord circled her. Bellatrix Lestrange took a step forward but was held back by her husband. This was a duel of strength. If the Dark Lord could not defeat a wandless witch he was not worthy of their allegiance.

"I got the idea from a Muggle cartoon and comic. Jutsu. Bending."

The stones around her surged and grew into spikes before detaching and flying at the Dark Lord like stone spears. It would take a lot of power to fuel a shield against kinetic masses. He took a note from her book and ducked and weaved to avoid the projectiles.

"You cling to the past when the future could be so much More!"

He began using more dangerous and darker spells, faster and faster. He was a genius and an accomplished duelist with a large arsenal of spells. Hermia Grangston was wandless and limited to her more energy-intensive wandless elemental magic. She held him off for ten minutes before falling under a chained spell ending in a bone-breaker that tagged her.

Even lying on the floor, beaten and practically immobile, her eyes flashed fire.

"All you seek is power and immortality. They will be the end of you," she vowed.

He dared not approach her too closely. The stones around her were rippling subtly. If he used the Killing Curse she would most likely raise a stone barrier, so he decided to use a curse he had come across in his research. "Eradico Perfectus."

As he'd expected she raised the stone in a dome around her. It shattered under the lightening bolts of his spell. She screamed as the energy consumed her leaving nothing but a scorched mark on stone and rubble.

Voldemort was breathing deeply though he managed to keep from betraying his fatigue.

"Pity," he remarked. "She was an accomplished duelist and spell crafter." He walked towards Rabastan who was kneeling, staring at the scorch mark that was the only thing left of his lover. "You no longer have a reason to remain at Hogwarts. Think carefully about your position in society, your responsibility to your Pureblood heritage. When you are ready you will come to me." And then he walked away.

Rabastan was vaguely aware of the other members of the inner circle walking away, leaving him shell-shocked and numb, staring at the scorched grey stones.

Mia was gone. Voldemort had killed her.

~o~

Pain was her existence, the only thing keeping her grounded in the inky darkness.

"Granger."

Her name. No wait, she was Hermia Grangston. But you were Hermione Granger once upon a time, a small voice insisted.

Clinging to that truth she struggled towards the tiny pinpoint of light, towards consciousness. She cried out in pain when she was nearly blinded by the light. Her voice was harsh and her throat hurt.

"Dim the lights," a female voice ordered. "She's too sensitive."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the light. "Where?" she demanded in a harsh froglike croak.

"Department of Mysteries. It's been five years since you vanished but you're home now."

Home? She couldn't quite stop the tears that leaked from her eyes. Home was Rabastan, home was his arms, sitting beside him, lying in his bed, loving him. Home was gone since Rabastan Lestrange had become a Death Eater and died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

A male someone murmured, "Just sleep and focus on getting better. A lot has changed since you vanished."

She wanted to argue with him and say her world had been destroyed and that nothing would make it better. Before she could the witch murmured a sleep spell and knocked her out.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Remus Lupin frowned as one of the younger Gryffs gasped and dropped his copy of the Daily Prophet on the dining table.

"What is it?" he asked.

The second year passed the paper and pointed an article on the third page: 'Hogwarts DADA instructor missing.'

He grabbed the newsprint and quickly scanned the short article. Hermia Grangston had been reported missing by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore for three days. Foul play was suspected but there were no leads, only duelling spell damage in the Ministry room reserved for her meeting a Ministry worker. The unidentified Ministry employee confirmed he met Professor Grangston and they parted ways, she stayed to finish some paperwork and was presumably attacked and abducted. There were no clues or any witnesses, nothing for the DMLE to go on. Given her Half-blood status, gender, and the current tensions the unofficial conclusion was she was dead.

The paper fell from numb fingers.

"What are you reading?" Sirius turned towards Remus, craning his head to read the print.

The numbness did not fade entirely but Remus managed to glare at his yearmate. "Look at what you've done!"

Sirius' expression was unrepentant. "Looks like she got her just desserts for consorting with a Dark Wizard."

Remus was furious. "She did not deserve to be killed for daring to date a Pureblood!"

Sirius shrugged. "Her boyfriend probably delivered her to his Master."

"I think the letter You sent to your mother did that," Remus pointed out acidly.

Sirius showed no remorse, no discomfort, only satisfaction. Remus was reminded that despite all Sirius's claims and Sorting he had been born and raised in a Dark family who had no problems killing to eliminate enemies or competition. True there was no proof Sirius' letter started the mess but the werewolf's instincts screamed otherwise. Peter had eavesdropped on McGonagall more than three months ago. Professor Grangston and Rabastan Lestrange had managed to keep their relationship secret all this time. And just a week after Sirius sent a letter to Walburga Black Professor Grangston vanishes and is presumed dead? There was no proof but there was too much to be coincidence either.

A soft tinkle rang through the Great Hall. Everyone looked to the Head Table. The Headmaster put down the fork he was tapping against his goblet and stood.

"As you may have read in the Prophet our DADA instructor, Professor Grangston, is missing and presumed dead. I am certain our Aurors are doing their best to locate Professor Grangston. Please, let me assure you Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain; Professor Grangston was taken when she was in London. As much as I hate to say this her absence is going to make it difficult for students taking their DADA OWLs and NEWTs. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall will be continuing DADA classes for fifth and seventh years. For the rest of you the final exam will be on material covered up to now. If you have any questions please talk to your Head of House. Thank you."

And then he sat down. The Great Hall broke into a buzz of conversation. Everyone was talking. Remus could not bring himself to join the conversation, the gory speculation. If Sirius did this because a witch refused to date him, what else could he be capable of? That troubling thought refused to leave Remus. He could only pray and hope she was alive and well, or in a better place.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Sebastian Lestrange looked at the wizard sitting on the other side of the coffee table, across from him. The last time he'd seen Rabastan there was light in his eyes, joy and wonder whenever he had talked about Hermia Grangston. Now… Now it was like the light within him was extinguished.

"I'm sorry about Hermia Grangston."

Dead navy blue eyes turned in his direction. "She's gone."

Sebastian nodded. "Yes, she is."

"He killed her."

"That is what most Dark Lords do. They kill any competent competition."

Rabastan inhaled sharply. "He has to pay." There was still a spark in his grand-nephew.

Aged blue eyes did not look away. "Given the current government policies and court system he will not pay. He will not pay if any of the factions in play, the Dark or the Light, win." Sebastian was satisfied at the cold rage he had ignited. "Dumbledore is a sentimental old fool who refuses to make hard choices. The Ministry is incompetent and hamstrung by silly blind fools. They may succeed in putting the flames out but there is a high probability of Tom Riddle escaping; he is no fool."

Small sparks darted around the younger wizard, smoking when they impacted solid matter. "He Must pay."

Sebastian leaned back in his chair. "What are you willing to do to ensure that?" he countered. "What will you give up? What will you sacrifice?"

Flames burned in navy eyes. "Everything."

"Riddle seems to be very interested in you. He will not give up," he warned.

Rabastan snarled. "I vow upon my magic, I will Never bear his Mark!"

Sebastian was pleased and afraid for his young relation. "I have an idea," he announced after some consideration. Rabastan tilted his head and made a go-ahead gesture. "It will protect the Clan and set up ground to reclaim the British branch in the fullness of time." He waited until he was certain Rabastan was paying attention. "You must vanish, become a ghost. Until Riddle is dealt with and perhaps even after no one must know you are alive."

"You want to stage my death," Rabastan surmised.

"Yes."

"It will not work. There are records in the Department of Mysteries and the Hall of Records that will update automatically."

"If you stay out of Britain they won't," Sebastian countered.

Rabastan shook his head. "No. I can move to France but there will be times when I will have to travel. It will be foolish to not account for the possibility I may have to return to Britain for some undeniable reason."

"Do you have a better idea?" Sebastian wanted to know.

Blue eyes focused on some distant point. Then he spoke slowly. "As a matter of fact I do. I need a decoy."

"Excuse me?"

"I need a fill-in, a body double, so no one is looking for me. Muggles use them when guarding VIPs. Everyone pays attention to the obvious one so the real one can escape."

Sebastian considered the idea. "That will take some work. And planning."

"And it is doable."

"Yes."

Both men were silent as the considered the logistics and requirements of such a feat.

"If we succeed in this, what do you plan to do?" Sebastian wanted to know.

Rabastan's face was very cold. "I plan on killing every Death Eater that dares to step out of Britain. And if Riddle shows up I will do the same to him."

Sebastian was very worried for his great-nephew. He needed a better reason to live. "Is this what Hermia would have wanted from you?"

The cold façade broke and splintered as tears filled the younger wizard's eyes. "No."

"She would want you to live," Sebastian continued. "All witches want their wizards to live happy productive healthy lives. Don't go chasing death so you can join her prematurely. She will not be happy with that."

Rabastan shuddered. "I'll try. But I miss her! And it hurts so much."

"I can't say the hurt will vanish completely but in time it will hurt less. For now focus on living for her, doing the things she'd want you to do."

Rabastan nodded, blinking rapidly.

Sebastian did not say anything about the soundless tears running down his great-nephew's face. He regretted never having the opportunity to meet Hermia Grangston. She must have been a truly remarkable witch to have influenced Rabastan so.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Albus Dumbledore scanned a cut-out article from the Daily Prophet with a particular headline: 'Lestrange Heir Apparent suffers in Accident.' The article went on to explain Rabastan Lestrange had been testing an experimental spell that back-lashed, destroying a great deal of the environment and injuring the wizard. He had been taken to St Mungos where he was treated. When he recovered enough to wake up it was evident he had lost large chunks of his memory, including his Mastery training. He was released into the custody of his elder brother Rodolphus.

The wizard carefully put it down and pulled out a second cut-out article. 'Lestrange Heir Apparent enters social whirl.' The article touched on Rabastan Lestrange's recent hospital stay and recent forays into Pureblood society events. He was no longer shy and uncertain, but more confident and aggressive. He had no interest in studying and regaining his Mastery but seemed intent on pursuing a hedonistic lifestyle, the traditional role of a second son supporting the family Heir, Rodolphus Lestrange.

The elderly wizard stroked his white beard with a thoughtful expression. It was a pity the loss of Hermia Grangston had driven him over the edge. It was Dumbledore's personal beliefs that the botched spell was some attempt at resurrecting the witch. The memory loss was most likely a subconscious attempt at forgetting her. Their relationship had begun on intellectual interests so he had suppressed that part of his personality and everything she had taught him about tolerance and balance.

All his sources indicated the same thing: Tom had killed her and practically ordered Rabastan to return when he was ready to take the Mark. And given his personality change he had probably taken the Mark, or was going to in the near future. A pity, they could have done a great deal for the Light even if they had refused to join the Order.

Carefully he tucked both articles into a scrapbook and shelved it. He had a school to run and an upcoming war to prepare for.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondering why the Marauder’s Map was fooled? Identity is a tricky thing. Every program has to be told how to label a file. Hermione Granger appeared in the past with no records, no trace of history, her new identity was set up under Hermia Grangston, it is the only name she is known by in the past. Even in the DoM she is referred to as the Traveller Unborn, because her past/child self has not yet been born or even conceived.


	3. Carpe Diem II (2) The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finds herself back in the future. She has to adjust to several paradigm shifts. So do those who care for her when they find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts in December in the future. Her last memories were of the duel that took place in May back in the past.

_Pain was her existence, the only thing keeping her grounded in the inky darkness._

_"Granger."_

_Her name. No wait, she was Hermia Grangston. But you were Hermione Granger once upon a time, a small voice insisted._

_Clinging to that truth she struggled towards the tiny pinpoint of light, towards consciousness. She cried out in pain when she was nearly blinded by the light. Her voice was harsh and her throat hurt._

_"Dim the lights," a female voice ordered. "She's too sensitive."_

_Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the light. "Where?" she demanded in a harsh froglike croak._

_"Department of Mysteries. It's been five years since you vanished but you're home now."_

_Home? She couldn't quite stop the tears that leaked from her eyes. Home was Rabastan, home was his arms, sitting beside him, lying in his bed, loving him. Home was gone since Rabastan Lestrange had become a Death Eater and died in the Battle of Hogwarts._

_A male someone murmured, "Just sleep and focus on getting better. A lot has changed since you vanished."_

_She wanted to argue with him and say her world had been destroyed and that nothing would make it better. Before she could the witch murmured a sleep spell and knocked her out._

When she awoke again the room was dim and soothing. Minutes after she came to there was movement in a shadowed corner, a form detaching itself and moving into her field of view. A not too tall sexless figure clad in dark robes with a raised hood that hid the face in shadows.

"You're awake," the figure, a female by the soft voice, murmured.

Hermione didn't know what else to say but "Yes."

"What is the last thing you remember Miss Granger? You have been missing for more than five years."

Hermione stiffened. "Five years? What's the date?" she demanded. And when she was told she sank back on the pillow. Struggling to gain some semblance of control she sought out information. "Where am I? Who are you?"

"The Department of Mysteries. You can call me Thistle. I have been assigned to be your liaison."

The answers did not have any good connotations. True, Hermia Grangston had a good relationship with the DoM but Hermione Granger didn't. In fact she had destroyed quite a lot of DoM research and artefacts in her Fifth Year. As though sensing her building tension the voice continued in soothing tones.

"The Head Unspeakable has a file on your activities in the past. Unspeakable Reynard ordered a team to study Hermia Grangston's disappearance more than two decades ago. When Hermione Granger vanished five years ago we knew where you were: the past."

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand… I thought it was an accident… it wasn't?"

"It could have been prevented. But that would have caused paradox."

Hermione nodded slowly. "How odd. I was in the past for only three years," she mused almost to herself.

"Yes. Chimera theorized your reappearance two years ago. When you didn't show the team began examining the data more carefully. There was some concern that you had died for real in the past, eradicated by Riddle's spell."

Hermione shuddered. "I honestly thought I was dead meat," she confessed. Then something else hit her. "Does anyone know of what happened to me? Or was I reported missing and presumed dead? My parents? My friends? Do they know I'm back?" Thistle visibly hesitated. "Please, just tell me!" she begged.

"Your parents are dead. They were on vacation in Japan when an earthquake hit. They were among thousands who were killed. Your friends looked for you but after two years they gave up. You would not have stayed away with no contact willingly. You were presumed as kidnapped and killed. We managed to keep Gringotts from declaring you dead by pointing out you were Muggleborn with affiliated records, and Muggle laws require a seven-year wait before you could be declared dead. They agreed. Unfortunately the Ministry and your friends believed otherwise. I understand you have a nice gravestone in Ottery-St. Catchpole."

Hermione winced. Then something came to her forethoughts. "Is the DoM going to sequester me? Or will I be allowed to leave and live a normal life?"

Thistle tilted her head to one side. "The DoM would like you to stay and recover for at least a month before leaving. But considering your condition it might be safer for you to wait six months before facing the outside world."

"My condition?"

"Oh, you don't know?"

"Know what?" Hermione was getting frustrated by this point.

"You're pregnant. Your body has undergone several traumatizing shocks, the duel and subsequent time travel… The healers were stunned you didn't miscarry."

Hermione's hands reflexively went to her waist, as though to protect the new life within her. "I'm pregnant? I'm still pregnant, right?"

"Yes, but there is no guarantee you will carry to term," Thistle warned. "You will need specialists and constant care."

"I need peace and calm to recover," Hermione shot back. "I'm not going to find that in a place filled with researchers. Besides, I have to see what I can do about getting my life back in order. I can't wait until I'm about to give birth to deal with all the paperwork."

Thistle did not say or do anything, but Hermione sensed she was displeased. "Very well, I will contact Gringotts and set up an appointment, preferably after the bank is closed."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you," she murmured as she settled back feeling very drowsy.

"You should rest Miss Granger." Thistle hesitated before continuing. "Do you want me to contact your friends? Harry Potter perhaps?"

Hermione yawned. "Not yet. Let me talk to the goblins first. And catch up on what happened in the past five years. If Harry's life has settled down he doesn't need me disrupting it."

Hermione was dimly aware of Thistle retreating and the room becoming quiet and dark. It wasn't long before she sank into darkness herself and slept.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Three days later a dazed Hermione Granger left Gringotts three hours after the bank had closed its doors, a time when most witches and wizards were safe in their own homes. As promised Thistle had set up the appointment with Gringotts and escorted her to the bank before vanishing with the promise to pick her up in three hours. Hermione had been very thankful Thistle insisted on having dinner before dropping her off.

When she had arrived in the past Hermione had been resigned to living her life out in that time. To ensure she was comfortably off she had provided her financial advisor with a detailed list: instructions, events to look out for, companies and people to invest in, years to sell out. Harshpik had followed them most diligently using the contents of her vault, then taking loans to expand her Muggle and Magical investments, to increase the galleons in his percentage fee. Hermione had insisted he take an oath to not share the oracular information with anyone or to use it and make investments with personal funds. If Harshpik wanted to benefit he had to make Hermia Grangston benefit first. Each of those investment loans were repaid very quickly and both her vault and Harshpik had profited greatly. Now Hermia Grangston's vault made a twenty-four year old Hermione Granger one of the wealthiest individuals in the Wizarding world. Because the assets were hers free and clear, not in-trust or restricted in any fashion. Luckily she had requested a blood seal on Hermia Grangston's vault which made it very easy to prove her claim to it.

For a long time they wandered down the lit streets of Diagon Alley before Thistle directed them into a busy café where they bought hot pastries and pumpkin juice.

"Where do you want to go next?" Thistle asked.

"I want to see Professor McGonagall."

Thistle nodded. "I strongly suggest we send her an owl and set up an appointment first."

Hermione considered the advice and conceded. "Yes. Tomorrow afternoon will be fine. I need to buy some clothes and do personal shopping in Muggle London first."

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Minerva McGonagall had frowned after reading the unsigned letter she had just received. It had been deliberately vague with one specific detail that caught her interest: Hermione Granger. Her first reaction had been to rip it up; the letter had to be a cruel joke. But then she had read it more carefully. The writer was requesting an in-person meeting in a Gringotts conference room that were warded against magical deception. After some thought she had owled back a date and time that worked for her. Now she was very glad she had done so.

"Hermione!" Minerva could not resist the urge to hug her old student. It was such a relief, to she was healthy and whole. Then she pulled back to look the younger witch in the eye. "Where were you? The Order spent months looking for you!"

Hermione smiled wryly as she guided the older witch to the table set with a tea tray and plates of sandwiches. "It's a long story Minerva. One better told once you've drunk some strong tea and eaten something."

The Headmistress blinked, taken aback but complied. Three cups of tea and five sandwiches later she was grateful she had. Minerva had heard of the Muggle saying 'Truth is stranger than fiction,' but she had never imagined it could apply in the Wizarding World! Her student Hermione Granger was her old colleague Hermia Grangston! And before she had even been born in linear time!

"I'm surprised you actually did what you did," she said after hearing the high points of her old student's tale. "You know the rules about time travel—"

"And they didn't apply because no time turner was involved. The Unspeakables confirmed I was a linear part of time, not an external intruder. I was stuck, part of the weave, with no way back as far as they could determine. And I tried looking myself but the power requirements for such a big jump would have burnt out and killed me. I had pretty much resigned myself to the situation and saw the only way I could have avoided making any impact was to live in a cave and I wasn't going to do that!" Hermione pointed out firmly.

"But you tried to change history." Minerva sounded both disapproving and intrigued.

"Did I succeed in changing anything? I don't know," Hermione confessed. "How much of what I did was meant to? I tried to change Riddle's supporters but now I'm back I wonder if it was just an exercise in futility." She blinked back tears rapidly. "I loved Rabastan but he ended up taking Riddle's mark and…" her breath caught on a sob.

Minerva reached out to cover the younger witch's hand and squeezed. "Well actually I think you did succeed in changing some things."

Hermione stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"It happened about ten months after you vanished. Sebastian Lestrange, the Head of the French Branch of the Clan, he called for a press conference and made an announcement. The Death Eater Rabastan Lestrange, the one you and I knew and fought, he was a younger son from a cadet branch of the Continental Lestranges; an immoral cruel wizard arrested for raping the daughter of an important Italian Ministry of Magic bureaucrat. Sebastian and the real Rabastan Lestrange arranged to have the villain Obliviated and memory-modified to fit in the role of Rabastan Lestrange. No one knew the truth because an accident was staged and the Healers diagnosed the victim as amnesiac. The personality shifts were explained by the memory loss. 'Rabastan Lestrange' became the typical prejudiced blueblood bigot, the ideal candidate to be a Death Eater."

Hope sprang to life. "And the real Rabastan?"

"After you vanished, seemingly dead, he had moved to Paris where the 'accident' happened. When the fake one returned to England he stayed in France acting as Right Hand to the Lestrange Clan Head, working with the European Ministries to keep Riddle and the Death Eaters in Britain and out of the Continent."

Hermione's eyes were wide with admiration and intrigued interest. "I'm surprised no one recognized him."

"No one knew his true name or saw his true face. Everyone called him the Ice-Hearted Lestrange Enforcer. It eventually became 'Frost' Lestrange. It wasn't until after you vanished that Sebastian Lestrange had his press conference and revealed Frost's true identity."

"And now?" Hermione wanted to know. "Is he still in Paris?"

"Rabastan 'Frost' Lestrange moved to England after the press conference and everything was straightened out with the Ministry. As far as I know he's kept to himself mostly, not very active socially but he has been in the papers. Never with the same witch twice." Minerva hesitated before adding delicately. "Common belief is he is looking for a wife. One suitable to help him rebuild the Lestrange name in Britain."

Hermione stiffened but didn't say anything.

Minerva waited before continuing. "You should go to him. You have been apart for literally decades. For no fault of your own."

The young witch bit her lower lip. "I can't," she whispered. "It's been years for him. He's probably no longer interested in me. I can't force myself on him."

Minerva wanted to protest but instinct held her tongue. Something told her it would be best to not press Hermione at this point in time.

"It is your choice dear. Do you have any other plans in mind?"

Hermione looked torn. "I want to hide. And heal," she confessed. There was a small pause before she added, "I'm pregnant and the DoM Healers have warned me there is a big chance I'll miscarry."

"Have you seen any other Healers?" Minerva asked gently.

Hermione shook her head mutely.

"Then I want you to see Poppy. There are very few students in the Castle because of the Holidays so we don't have to worry about you being spotted before you're ready." Minerva ordered in brisk no-nonsense tones.

Hermione wanted to protest, insist she was an adult and more than capable of making her own decisions, but a large part of her argued otherwise. She was tired and weak. And she trusted Minerva to look after her, to keep her secrets. So she gave in.

"All right. I'll stay. At least until the New Years when the students get back."

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

In the luxuriously appointed den-office of a London townhouse a broad-shouldered man with silver-shot mink brown hair restrained in an old-fashioned queue dressed in an old-fashioned white poets shirt, brown leather pants and dragon hide boots, paced in front of a large stone-lined fireplace lit with purple and blue flames. After several turns he finally came to a sharp stop and rested one hand on the fireplace mantel piece, clenching the raw stone edge tightly. His face was mature but attractive, all planes and sharply defined angles and lines that only added to his charisma. Full lips were pressed together tightly in a thin line. India-ink blue eyes striated with grey were filled with turmoil and indecision.

Just hours ago his sources in Gringotts passed him some information; information he had been waiting for, for a very very long time: the Grangston vault had been claimed and reactivated, by a perfect match to the original owner's blood seal. It had also been confirmed by his contact in the Department of Mysteries. The scanty reports used up a large chunk of favours owed but Rabastan 'Frost' Lestrange did not care.

Hermione Granger had reappeared after vanishing five years ago. After more than two decades his first and dearest love, Hermia Grangston, was back. It was something he had yearned and prayed for. The first few months almost hourly, then daily, then weekly, then monthly. After the aftermath of the First Voldemort War he had given up almost all hope but a small stubborn part of him continued to cling to the possibility. While Wizarding Society celebrated Harry Potter's victory over Voldemort, Rabastan had paid a hefty fee to be alerted in the event of the Grangston vault being claimed.

The first decade he had prayed and hoped his love would show up. She had told him she was from the future but she had refused to provide personal details or the specific year she was from. She had insinuated she came from a time after the Second Voldemart War so Rabastan had refused to relax and become lax. He knew a second war was around the corner. As the years passed he wondered if she had lied (but he knew she hadn't, she preferred to remain silent than deliberately lie), then he wondered if she was even born, if he was old and dead when Riddle was resurrected and the Second War fought (but it couldn't be that, there was something about her expression when she met Bellatrix and Narcissa and Lucius… she knew them and possibly many others).

It wasn't until he read the first reports on a teenage Harry Potter that he heard the name Hermione Granger. It wasn't until the Daily Prophet labelled her a hussy (for 'leading on' two Champions) during the Tri-Wizard Tournament that the dots began to connect. He ordered more in-depth background checks on Hermione Granger and her family. The closest magical connection was through a squib ancestor born to the Dagworth-Grangers. Hermione Granger clearly considered herself as Muggleborn and proud of it. She was brash, bright, and headstrong. So like and so unlike his own dear Hermia. As the months and years passed, as he read more reports on the Golden Trio's activities and adventures, it finally sank in. At some point in time when she was older, Hermione Granger was going to travel into the past and teach at Hogwarts. And fall in love with Rabastan Lestrange.

It had been horribly hard when he had first realized it. He had been so tempted to go to her with everything he knew, to take her away, to stop her, to support her, to help her… He had been torn between the primal need to protect her and to do Something. Then Great-Uncle Sebastian pointed out that he couldn't interfere. She had to fight, and grow into the woman he knew she would become (because he had never been the type to be impressed by rote-learning or narrow minds and young Hermione was too Gryffindor). He had to stand by and let her travel into the past to avoid paradox (because if Hermia Grangston hadn't influenced him to turn away from the Death Eaters Rabastan could have caused damage and death on scales incomprehensible to those with linear minds).

When Hermione Granger had vanished he mourned her as dead. Because he had seen her die in the past, killed by Tom Riddle. It took him months to recover from the double blow. When he finally did he set new goals for himself: to restore the Lestrange name. Great Uncle Sebastian helped a great deal with the Pureblood society, the Press, and the Ministries. It took many months before the British Ministry of Magic finally cleared his records. His tarnished reputation (due to his fill-ins actions) took longer. The Dark families hated and feared him. The Light families distrusted him. The Grey families were cautious and wary. Rabastan ignored them all and set about living his life as he saw fit. For the first time in decades he went about in public without a mask or glamour. He had become fond of the name Frost and it became the use-name among those he counted as friends or trusted allies.

And when he finally reached a turning point, where he was giving serious consideration to a wife, this happens! She was back. Some how she was back, alive and mostly whole. Rabastan had been unable to get all the details (his contact was rather low on the totem pole with limited access) but he knew she was healthy enough to go to Gringotts and leave the Department of Mysteries and vanish to Merlin knew where. The Unspeakable with the knowledge was not sharing.

His first reflex had been to send a BOLO alert to his agents, to locate and detain if possible. Then common sense took control. She might be the same as he remembered but he was definitely not the same as she remembered. He was too old, too jaded, too hard, and too blood-stained, even for a war-weary soul as hers. For twenty years he had devoted himself to a memory, to a cause, praying for a second chance. Now that he had it Rabastan found himself in the odd position of being uncertain of what to do. For so long he had restrained himself from approaching her it was second nature. He wanted to see her but was reluctant to take the first step, to risk being rejected.

He hit his clenched fist against the rough stone mantle and relished in the physical pain. It served as a distraction from his dilemma. After a long while he finally came to a decision and decided to leave it up to her. It wasn't like he was hiding anymore. If she wanted she could easily find him. Merlin! Even a post-owl could find him now, unlike before.

His choked laughter became hysterical before turning into stifled sobs. He had waited two decades for her; he could wait a few more months for her to readjust and contact him. Hopefully.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Hermione carefully manoeuvred herself into the shower stall for a shower. She would have preferred a hot soak but her gravid condition made her wary of clambering into and out of tubs. She really had to find out if there were safety-charms to prevent pregnant women from slipping in the bath. She sighed as the luke-warm water rained down on her, rinsing the sweaty sticky feeling that had been plaguing her all day. As she enjoyed the refreshing coolness her thoughts drifted.

The past seven months had not been easy. The first four months she had been restricted to limited physical activities, terrified any strong exertions could cause her to miscarry. Hermione knew she could have easily used the wealth in the Grangston vault to pay for a private cottage and healer but she had chosen to accept Minerva's offer –to stay in Hogwarts after the Christmas Hols ended– because she had been terrified of being alone or with strangers. If she was going to miscarry she wanted to be close to witches and a healer she trusted to look after her best interests. Oh it had not been easy… The staff had been curious to know just who was staying in the VIP guest wing but most had been mollified by Minerva's assurances the guest was a kinswoman recovering from a difficult illness needing an experienced live-in healer. She had asked if she could stay in Hogwarts under Poppy Pomfrey's care since she did not want to hire the exclusive services of a healer from St Mungo's for just herself. The school was being financially compensated for the miniscule expenses and Poppy's services.

Hermione chose to seclude herself in her private suite. Once her body recovered enough for Poppy to approve light activities she warded her section of the guest wing (to take short walks in the corridors) and took advantage of the Hogwarts Library. Her intellectual needs were satisfied by books borrowed and returned to the library via the House Elves. She insisted on helping Minerva with paperwork and marking (she was still the OWL and NEWT level Transfiguration Professor). The students remained mostly ignorant of the guest though a few suspected the professors were hiding something. Luckily the Marauder's Map was no longer in the hands of students evading prefects on patrol. Minerva had confirmed it was in a storage trunk until the Weasleys or Potters had a child old enough to attend Hogwarts.

She carefully stepped out of the shower and towelled her very heavy body thoroughly, before slathering lotion on every inch of skin she could reach. Her rounded belly received extra attention before she slipped into a pale-blue smocked nightgown. The elaborate gathers at the yokes ensured there was enough material to accommodate her expanding waistline. She thrust her feet into fuzzy slippers and wandered into her bedroom to slip into a warm flannel robe. A soft pop caught her attention.

"Missy Hermy, Missy Kitty and Missy Poppy are waiting for you."

Hermione smiled faintly. "Thank you Cookie. Did you bring a tray?"

The House Elf looked offended. "Of course! Cookie good House Elf. Egg, cress and cucumber sandwiches and herbal tea." And then she vanished with a pop before Hermione could apologize.

Hermione carefully made her way to her private sitting room. As Cookie had said both Minerva and Poppy were seated and taking full advantage of the tea tray and treats.

Both older witches talked about inconsequential minor matters as Hermione sat down, had some tea and ate a whole sandwich. Once she started nibbling on her second one Poppy's blue eyes focused in a familiar investigative fashion.

"Have you made a decision dear?"

Hermione deliberately chewed on her sandwich as she thought about the question. About the questions raised and choices available to her. Poppy had brought up several matters during her last pre-natal check-up, issues that needed to be resolved. Soon. Where was she planning on giving birth? Did she want to inform the father? Was he going to be listed on the birth certificate? Did she have any idea on who she was going to ask to support her during labour? Did she want to inform any of her old friends, Harry or the Weasleys before or after she gave birth? Did she want the public to know?

Both Minerva and Poppy waited for the young witch to respond. Rushing and pressuring a pregnant witch was not a safe thing to do. If she felt cornered her magic could break free causing damage to everyone around her.

"I still love him," she confessed out of the blue.

Poppy and Minerva started. They had witnessed her courtship in the past (though they hadn't known her secret admirer was Rabastan Lestrange) and knew she had a lover (by then it had been pretty clear who he was). They had been surprised and worried when she had vanished (Rabastan's blank expression warned them something had gone very wrong). But before they could get any details from him he had vanished. The next thing they knew he was in the papers, an amnesiac victim of a near fatal magical explosion. His subsequent behaviour was distasteful enough for both witches to make every effort to avoid him. It wasn't until the recent press conference, the truth being revealed, that they regretted their harsh judgments on his initial reactions all those years ago.

"Is this a recent thing?" Minerva asked carefully.

Hermione smiled acidly. "Oh no. I don't think I ever stopped loving him once I started. It's just that I'm afraid… I don't know if he feels the same about me after all this time."

"I think a man who willingly sacrificed his reputation and hid in the shadows to fight an unacknowledged war for two decades is not someone who loves casually. Only one who has lost a great deal, one who doesn't care about his own life, could do what he did." Minerva spoke softly and gently to her old student.

"It took me some time to see that," Hermione admitted. "But it's been two decades since he last saw me. He could have easily fallen in love with someone else."

"If he did he would be married by now," Poppy countered bluntly. "He isn't. He isn't even in a serious relationship. An oddity for a wizard of his wealth and status. Only a wizard who loved deeply and lost that love would have remained single for so long."

Hermione bit her lip. "I had another reason for waiting. The baby."

That confused both witches. "But why?"

"The DoM healers said they were not sure if I would ever carry to full-term," Hermione confessed. "I did not want to put my body through any additional emotional stress. I wanted to hide someplace safe and quiet until the pregnancy was advanced enough to be stable. Miscarriages hurt. Even when no one is responsible it can end usually strong relationships. I should know. My parents nearly divorced. My mother had five miscarriages, three after my birth, before they decided to stop trying."

Poppy nodded. "Understandable. But your condition is stable now. Even if you go into labour tomorrow your child is strong enough to survive."

Hermione bit her lip. "I know. And now I'm ready to face him." She gestured at her rounded belly. "He's going to be mad that I didn't contact him for so many months, that I kept silent about our baby. But now I'm confident enough to handle it. And whatever choice he might make."

Minerva snorted. "Don't be silly child. When he sets his eyes on you he's going to grab on to you so tight he'll never let go! In fact he's probably going to be constantly underfoot for the next few years, to make sure you don't get kidnapped and vanish on him." Shrewd hazel eyes settled on the young witch. "Is there another reason why you've decided to contact him now? You could easily wait until after you give birth and heal."

Hermione shook her head. "It is Pureblood Tradition for the father to be the second pair of hands to hold the baby after birth, to acknowledge the familial ties. I want to give him the chance to do that."

Poppy nodded. "Understandable. Your due date is the second week of August; do you have any thoughts about who will support you?"

Pale brown eyes turned shyly towards the Headmistress. "You've done so much for me and I hate to impose but I'd really appreciate it if you would."

Minerva blinked back tears. It was an honour only given to close friends or kin. It had been decades since Minerva had been asked to be a pregnant witch's support during childbirth. She wiped back tears as she said the only answer she could. "I would be honoured."

Poppy dashed away her own tears. "Well then, I suppose we should start making plans for the summer. When can we expect Mr Lestrange to pay us a visit?"

Hermione smiled wryly. "Soon. I've sent him… an invitation."

"And will he be staying?" Minerva asked briskly.

Hermione hesitated. "I don't know. I guess it's up to him."

Minerva smiled broadly. "I think we should prepare for an additional guest. The House Elves can clear the suite next to yours and open up a connecting door."

Poppy hesitated before bringing up an unsettled issue. "Do you want anyone else to know?"

Hermione's response was quick and decisive. "No. Not until Rabastan knows. Perhaps not even until after the baby's born and we're settled."

And with that the topic of conversation turned to lighter matters, short day-trips and shopping excursions planned by the older witches. Since Hermione could not go out and pick things for her baby's nursery, or even her own maternity wardrobe, Minerva and Poppy had gone shopping in her stead, mostly in Muggle towns where they wouldn't be recognized.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Rabastan Lestrange frowned at the contents of the parcel that had just been delivered by a common post-owl. After verifying it was 'clean' of any poisons and dangerous traps he used a silver letter opener to tear the plain brown butcher paper at the edges. He frowned when he saw the contents: a Honeydukes toffee tin. After checking for more traps he opened it and was intrigued to see there were no chocolates, but the tin contained an emerald-green velvet pouch. When he removed it he saw there was something else underneath: a smooth wooden surface, about the size of his hand. Curious, he took it out and examined the item in minute detail. It was an enchanted box crafted from cherry wood, very similar to one he had sent to a very special witch more than two decades ago. With trembling hands he turned the velvet pouch upside down, spilling the contents onto his desk.

Gold squares hit the polished wood, some bouncing a few times before they came to a stop. He selected one square at random and examined it closely. The sides were etched with runes and arithmetic symbols. Just like his gift to Hermia. Only these puzzle pieces were gold and studded with red gemstones: rubies, garnets, spinels, red coral, and star rubies. He immediately reached out to grab a sheet of paper and a pencil before sitting down. He ignored his cooling tea and in-box of business correspondence in favour of solving the runic jigsaw puzzle on his desk.

Forty minutes later the last square piece slipped into the remaining open slot on the box surface. He watched as the gold metal and red gems swirled into an abstract pattern before rearranging themselves into two intertwined letters: H and G. Carefully he lifted the lid and set it aside. Inside the polished cherry wood hollow was a folded parchment. He gave it a quick cursory examination. The only magic was a recipient lock on the green wax seal. He brushed his thumb against it, 'pushing' his magic out. The wax crumbled and broke.

After a brief hesitation he unfolded the parchment and began reading the contents. It was an invitation to join an old friend at Hogwarts. There was a specific date and time included. Ten o'clock day after tomorrow.

"Petal!" he roared.

There was a soft pop just before a house elf dressed in a neatly embroidered pillowcase appeared in front of him. "Yes Master Frost?"

"Pack my travel bag. I will be in Scotland for at least five to ten days."

"Right away Master Frost! What should Petal tell any visitors?"

"I'm away on business. If it's important they can contact Great-Uncle Sebastian."

Petal nodded and vanished in a pop.

He reached out and grabbed a pile of parchment and opened his planner. He needed to clear his appointments and meetings for at least the next week. Quickly he compiled a list of names and began composing a suitable form-letter to duplicate and send out. There was nothing pressing that could not be pushed off for a few weeks.

By the time he was done he rushed out of his study to bath and change into suitable travelling clothes. Hermia, no Hermione might have asked him to meet her day after tomorrow but there was no reason preventing him from going to Hogwarts, seeing her sooner.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Hermione shifted minutely on the patio lounge chair set up on the expanded private balcony. Sitting under the summer sun allowed her to get fresh air without being seen by the staff who had decided to stay in the castle over the summer. Besides she was getting too big for hours long brisk walks. And she preferred to stay in the castle where help was more readily available.

"Missy Grangy," a soft but high-pitched voice called out.

It was difficult twisting her torso to look around but Hermione managed. "Yes Cookie?"

"You's having a visitor."

For a brief second Hermione stiffened, in fear and apprehension. Then she remembered what she had done less than two days ago.

"Did he give a name?" she asked softly.

"He's saying his name is Rabastan Lestrange."

Hermione struggled to get up from the lounger. "Where is he? Are Poppy or Minerva around?" she asked urgently.

"He's in yous sitting room. Missy Kitty and Missy Poppy are out."

She debated her options before acknowledging there was only one real one open to her. "Please bring a tea tray. Tell him I will be out in ten minutes." She needed the time to pull herself together and change into something more suitable than the smocked sleeveless dress. She did want to tell him he was going to be a father, but she had hoped to have Minerva and Poppy around to support her.

Oh well, it wasn't like she had no experience in adapting and improvising.

~o~

Rabastan resisted the urge to get up and go hunting for her. He had acted prematurely, showing up a day ahead. It was not unexpected that she was not available immediately. He had already eaten three dainty cucumber and water cress sandwiches and drunken two cups of tea. Where was she? Just when his control was about ready to snap the bedroom door opened.

He rose and turned around. She was standing in the doorway swathed in a dove-grey linen cloak. She had not changed much from the last time he had seen her, still young and mostly unmarked by time. There were a few strands of silver at her temples, nothing like his hair that was more grey than brown these days. He wondered just what she'd been doing since she returned from the past. There had been no indication of her presence. In fact if it wasn't for the alerts on her vaults he would have been just as ignorant of her 'resurrection' as everyone else seemed to be.

"Hermia. Or would you prefer Hermione?" he asked in very controlled tones. Her eyes widened. "Yes, I knew. It was very evident once Riddle's Second Rise began. Even as a teenager your features were unmistakable."

Brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "And you didn't tell?"

He snorted softly. "Paradox. Besides, it wasn't like you gave me any details. Would you have believed anything a stranger from a clan of Dark oriented Purebloods told you? In the middle of a war?

The anger faded. "No," she murmured in agreement. "You were right. I had no memories of you approaching me. If you had everything could have changed such that I never went back."

He inclined his head shallowly. "Yes. It was the most difficult thing I'd done: Staying away when all I wanted to do was claim you as mine and protect you." Her eyes widened and darted to his, her unvoiced question very clear. He nodded. "Yes, I'm not lying Mia."

Tears shimmered before escaping and rolling down her cheeks. "You still… you still care? You still want me?"

Rabastan resisted the urge to flee. He had promised himself he would be honest to her. He was many things but an oath-breaker was not one of them.

"Yes. If you still want me. But I'm not the same wizard you knew back then Mia," he cautioned her.

She dashed away her tears. "I know that! I was afraid you wouldn't be interested in me, that you would have found someone else," she confessed. "I would have understood and accepted if you had," she added.

He shook his head. "I won't say that I didn't have other witches because I did, but none of them truly caught my interest as you did, as you still do."

Her breath caught at his unexpected confession. "I didn't want to leave you," she whispered.

"I didn't think you wanted to. I saw Riddle cast the spell on you just before you vanished. When you didn't reappear two years ago I had resigned myself to your permanent death."

She hesitated from her position, just inside the doorway. "There are things about me, things you do not know."

He smiled faintly. "I would not have expected otherwise. I am no stranger to secrets, even being excluded from them."

She took two steps in, reflexively holding a hand out to him. She just managed to keep from going to his side, smoothening the lines of tension and stress on his face. He was the same and yet so different… older, wearier, colder, harder. She ignored her qualms.

"I need to tell you something."

He held his hands out palms up, an open gesture. "I am listening."

She opened her mouth then shut it. She didn't know how to tell it. So she did the next best thing, in her mind. She opened the clasps of the cloak charmed to conceal and hide, and tossed it back and off, over the back of an upholstered armchair.

She tensed reflexively when dark blue eyes fell towards the now uncovered and very prominent bump dominating her frame. She forced herself to remain still as he moved swiftly towards her side. One large scarred callused hand touched the bump. And Hermione couldn't resist the urge to smile when the baby moved strongly in response.

She did not fight when his free hand caught her chin and tilted it up to meet her eyes. "Is it mine?" She did not take offence at his question. The last time he'd seen her had been two decades ago. And he did not know when she had returned to the present, or her activities. She was in fact warmed by the question; that he considered himself a viable candidate to be the father of her child. Despite the vast gap of time that separated them. "Yes." Her response was short and to the point.

She could see the mental shifts in his eyes as he added the new information to generate a new working model. She was reassured that he did not voice any doubts about her claim, that he was the father. He inhaled deeply and lifted his shoulders.

"I'm no longer that young, naïve wizard."

"Yes." It was the truth.

"But I still love you," he confessed. "I love you and I want to try to resume our relationship."

Tears pooled in brown eyes as she reached out and hugged him tight. The child within her kicked hard enough to be felt by its father. "Thank you," she sobbed softly. "For believing me so easily, not doubting."

His own arms tightened around her. "Paternity is easy to verify. You would not lie about something so easily disproved. Besides, you aren't the sort to deliberately lie or make false claims about such a thing." Her only response was a soft stifled sob before she buried her face in his chest. "I don't think we can ever get what we had before but we can try to make something new between us. And if it doesn't work we can at least be friends, for our child."

She leaned back enough to meet his eyes. "I agree."

And she did not fight when he gently tugged her over to the stuffed chairs, choosing one before tugging her down to sit beside him. She took full advantage, shifting closer until she was plastered against him, his arm around her shoulders, her face pressed against his chest. When she was comfortable she spoke.

"Why did you respond so quickly to my invitation?"

"I knew it was from you," he admitted.

She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "How?"

"After Riddle was first defeated I placed an alert on Hermia Grangston's vault. To be informed when it was re-activated and claimed. I knew you returned in December."

Hermione was stunned and irked. "If you knew why didn't you try to contact me?"

Tiny muscles on his face tightened, deepening lines etched by tension and stress. "My reputation. As far as you knew my fill-in was Rabastan Lestrange. I wanted to give you time to adjust to the current situation. And to decide if you wanted to be associated with me." Dark blue eyes met light brown evenly. "And what about you? Why didn't you approach me sooner?"

Her lashes lowered as she looked away. Absently one hand caressed her bump.

"I didn't know I was pregnant when Riddle hit me with that spell. It was a shock when the Unspeakables that found me informed me I was pregnant. They warned me there was a high chance I would miscarry. That I needed to stay in a safe stress-free environment to reach full-term.

"I didn't want you to know if I lost the child. Because it would turn into a blame game even when no one is responsible. Because I didn't know if you still had feelings for me, or if you would only stay with me because of obligation," she confessed. "I would have been destroyed if I lost the baby and you at the same time."

His grip on her shoulder tightened reflexively. "Never!" he hissed fiercely. "You're mine! That has always been clear in my mind. It's just that I'm afraid you can't love the wizard I've become."

She wrapped her arms around his torso. "I think I'm more flexible than most. Light, Dark, in the end it doesn't matter. Morality is perceptive, malleable. As long as you aren't going on unjustified killing and torturing sprees I'm willing to stay and work you around to my point of view."

Rabastan chuckled. "If you can."

"If I can," she conceded.

They sat there in silence for sometime before he spoke.

"Who else knows? That you're back."

"Only Poppy, Minerva, and the Unspeakables involved."

"No one else? Potter? Shacklebolt? The Weasleys?"

"No. I only contacted Minerva and Poppy because I needed a safe place and a Healer. I don't want to disrupt anyone else's lives until my own is in some order. Besides if anyone else finds out they'll insist I stay with them and be wrapped in cotton padding," she grumbled.

"If anyone's going to wrap you in padding it's going to be me," Rabastan murmured and was pleasantly surprised when Hermione didn't protest.

"Poppy was pushing me, to plan for the birth and after," Hermione confessed. "I knew I wanted you to be there, to acknowledge our baby."

Rabastan blinked back tears. It was an old Pureblood tradition, for the father to be the first hands to hold a newborn after the Healer, to link the newborn's magical core to the familial legacy. A fading tradition in a time where few newborns had a strong enough core to be linked in such a fashion. Especially in the Pureblood circles where more and more offspring were stillborn, squibs, or had weak late-developing magical cores.

"You know it would be much simpler if you marry me," he pointed out with studied casualness.

Hermione snorted. "No. That would simply bury the issues temporarily." She met his eyes directly. "I want to spend time together, to get to know you."

He nodded. "I've already cleared my calendar for this week. I'll reserve a room in the Three Broomsticks for the rest of the summer and pass off any in-person meetings I can't reschedule to Great-Uncle Sebastian."

Hermione froze. "I didn't say you had to turn your life upside down," she cried out in protest.

Rabastan shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I've waited for you all these years and I'm not willing to risk losing you. Besides, most of my work can be done through correspondence from anywhere."

Hermione frowned faintly. "All right. But you aren't staying in Hogsmeade. I'm sure Minerva won't mind you staying in Hogwarts." She glanced at her waist. "My due date is before school starts and I'd like to be settled in a private household before them. After the baby is born," she added warningly.

Rabastan subsided. "I don't see why you can't move into one of my estates," he muttered.

"I want to be close to Minerva and Poppy," she explained simply. "They've been a great support all these months. My mother is dead and I don't have any other female relatives. The friends I do have… I don't feel close enough to them for this."

The wizard sighed and nodded. "All right." After some silence he added, "It's just that I haven't seen Minerva or Poppy since you vanished and I left Hogwarts."

She reached out to squeeze his hand. "You aren't the only one with regrets. Both of them told me they suspected something was wrong, when you refused to talk, when you vanished. But when they read newspaper articles of your fill-in's behaviour and lifestyle they were angry. After the press conference, about the true activities of Rabastan Lestrange, they regretted their quick judgment, but they didn't know how to say so after so many years." She reached up and touched his face. "I want my friends and my loved ones to get along. And because I love you they will too."

He nodded. "All right, I'll stay in Hogwarts. If Minerva is agreeable."

The conversation turned to other topics as the couple began getting reacquainted with each other. Time passed and before they knew it a House Elf interrupted their conversation for dinner.

"Misses Kitty and Misses Poppy are waiting," she announced.

Hermione smiled warmly at the House Elf. "Cookie, please tell them I will be joining them, with a guest who arrived earlier than expected."

And she turned to her now apprehensive suitor. "Come on. It's only dinner."

"With the closest things I'll have to your clan matriarchs and aunts," he pointed out.

Hermione just laughed and tugged at his wrist as she stood up, refusing to let his apprehension taint her opinion. She kept her grip as she led him out of her suite and down the corridors to the private dining room the three witches preferred for private full-course meals.

Rabastan ended up being pleasantly surprised by his first interaction with Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey in more than two decades. Especially when Minerva McGonagall invited him to stay in Hogwarts without Hermione prompting her. And by the apologies from both witches.

"You loved Hermia, Hermione," Poppy said with a sad smile. "All of us saw it then. We should have pushed harder to find out exactly what had happened."

"I doubt you would have gotten anything from me back then," Rabastan allowed. "I had become numb. Nothing had any effect on me. I only wanted revenge. Only Great-Uncle Sebastian's plan kept me from doing a suicide run to take out Riddle."

There was silence for some time Poppy spoke. "Do you two have any plans?" she asked delicately.

The two glanced at each other in unison.

"We want to get reacquainted with each other," Hermione admitted. "I don't want us to rush into anything and have regrets later."

Minerva smiled warmly. "That sounds reasonable." She eyed the couple shrewdly before adding, "If you can't reach a decision before the birth you may wish to consider a hand fasting. It will provide legitimacy without being unbreakable."

From the thoughtful expressions her words must have made sense.

"We will keep that option in mind," Rabastan murmured.

Minerva clasped her hands. "Well then, let's sit down to dinner. Cookie!"

The House Elf popped into the room. "Yes Missy Kitty?"

"You can serve dinner now."

The House Elf popped away to inform her fellow elves.

The two elder witches watched the only wizard present seat his pregnant witch before pulling out chairs for them. By the time everyone was seated House Elves began popping in with dishes for a substantial dinner.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

TBC…


	4. Carpe Diem II (3) New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Lestrange welcomes new additions to the Lestrange clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: A few weeks after the end of the last chapter.   
> Warnings: graphic sexual intimacy.

Sebastian Lestrange made the appropriately polite noises as he was shown around Hogwarts, the premiere institution for magical schooling in Europe. He had sincere doubts it was best in the world. The Japanese had a longer magical tradition and the Americans were always open to pushing the borders and experimentation.

He ignored the interested looks from the portraits as the Headmistress led him down a particular corridor. He took note of the barren walls only lit by torches and glowing orbs.

"Now that we are away from the gossipers I can take you to whom you would be more interested in meeting," Minerva McGonagall said briskly.

"My great-nephew?" he asked casually.

"He rarely spends any time off the castle grounds," she admitted. "It's not very healthy but understandable."

Sebastian frowned faintly but hid his confusion. He hadn't heard from Rabastan other than a brief note requesting Sebastian to handle the pre-scheduled meetings Rabastan could not attend due to other commitments. What those commitments were had not been specified. He wasn't quite sure what kind of commitments would require Rabastan to drop everything and move into Hogwarts.

He followed the Headmistress down the corridor and stopped behind her before a particular floor to ceiling painting depicting a trellis archway heavily laced with pink, white, and red climbing roses. A painted shepherd boy stepped into the painting and smiled at the living beings.

"Revolving doors," the Headmistress said.

An odd password. The painting moved to reveal an archway into a private suite. Sebastian followed the Headmistress in and was not surprised to see his grand-nephew rise from a chair to greet him.

"Great-Uncle Sebastian," he said respectfully.

"Rabastan," Sebastian murmured cordially. "I hope you have not received troubling news that I am not aware of." Translation: would you care to explain why you're acting so oddly.

He was pleasantly surprised by Rabastan's broad grin. "Actually great-uncle, everything is just fine. Well, they could be better but it's a definite improvement to a year ago." His expression softened imperceptibly. "I'd like you to meet someone special." He turned half-way and held out a hand.

Sebastian watched as a second occupant made herself known, rising from the chaise. A very pregnant lady and about ready to deliver given her girth. Manners forced his gaze to rise to her face, to meet her eyes. And he froze seeing the mane of streaky brown curls framing the pale oval face, the imperfect but pretty features animated by pale brown eyes and a warm genuine smile.

He knew her. Potter's friend. Hermione Granger.

He bowed shallowly. "Miss Granger," he murmured.

The pair exchanged looks before Rabastan spoke. "Not entirely so Great-Uncle. I first knew her as Hermia Grangston."

Cloudy blue eyes widened in shock before narrowing. "Time turner?" he asked shrewdly.

"Accident. Bad spell interaction side-effect," Hermione Granger corrected. "I don't know how I landed in the past or how I got back."

"And just when did you get back?" Sebastian inquired delicately. "You have been missing for about five years now."

"About seven months," she admitted.

Sebastian lowered his eyes to her bump. There were charms that could mask or reduce the size of a pregnant woman's waist but he doubted she was using any of them. "The child…?" he asked trailing off questioningly.

"Is mine," Rabastan answered firmly. "Conceived in the past."

Sebastian rocked back on his heels and nodded slowly. After several tense seconds he smiled at the tense and waiting couple.

"Congratulations m'dear," he said to Hermione. "I always regretted never having the chance to meet you. Especially after your death – well, disappearance."

"Sir?" she asked hesitantly.

Sebastian smiled gently at her. "Back then it would have taken a truly remarkable witch to have influenced Rabastan. He was a rather arrogant intellectual and theorist." He looked to his great-nephew. "You made a good choice. This one was worth waiting for."

Both of them sagged slightly in relief. Sebastian wasn't sure why. It wasn't like he could interfere even if he wanted to. Both were most definitely adults, strong-willed, independently wealthy and experienced. He brought his hands together in a clap, lacing the fingers together.

"So, when are you going to get married?"

And was particularly displeased by the answer.

"We aren't. Not right now," Rabastan glanced at the pregnant witch standing beside him. "We want to get to know each other again before taking that final step." Dark blue eyes were faintly haunted. "I have changed a great deal over the years and Hermione needs time to adjust to those changes."

Sebastian frowned. "But you are expecting to marry, correct?"

They glanced at each other in unison. The ear-mark of a true couple.

"Yes," Hermione Granger was the one to respond.

"But you do not plan on doing so before your child is born." The statement had a questioning element to it that the witch felt the need to defend against.

"I feel it would do more harm to rush into a union and later regret it," she said quietly. "Rabastan and I, we are friends. I don't want to damage that. I just want time to get to know him again," she concluded with an earnest expression.

And the truth was Sebastian agreed with her reasoning. And if it wasn't for her condition he would have strongly supported her choice. But there was a child involved…

"You must understand, you are affecting your unborn child by choosing to not marry," he pointed out. "Familial legacies and inheritances are affected by legal legitimacy, which requires a registered union. However," a thoughtful expression lit his face. "It does not require the union to be marriage."

"What do you mean?" Rabastan asked.

Sebastian glanced at the couple seeing their calm but questioning looks. "A hand fasting is recognized by Magical law as a legitimate union. And a hand fasting can be set with a time limit, such as a year-and-a-day. Your child will be recognized as legitimate by law and magical society."

An eager expression spread across his great-nephew's face. "Hermione?" he asked softly as he reached out to take his witch's hand. "Would you agree to a hand fasting? A year will give us enough time to decide if we want to marry or not. There will be no whispers about our relationship or our child, especially when he or she is older."

The young witch chewed her lower lip for some time, considering her options before nodding slowly. "A hand fasting sounds like a good idea."

Sebastian smiled brightly. "Good. Then there is no reason why it cannot be done right now."

"What?" Hermione Granger looked shocked and off-balance by Sebastian's proclamation. "But what about licenses? Witnesses? Isn't there some kind of ritual that needs to be cast?"

Minerva McGonagall chose to intercede at that point.

"Actually Hermione, magical hand fastening doesn't require anything of that sort, just an unrelated bonder and the couple. If you wish I can act as bonder."

The younger witch looked reluctant. It relieved Sebastian when she spoke, explaining why.

"I don't know Minerva, would the hand fasting be registered somewhere in the Ministry? I don't want anyone to know I'm alive. I don't want to try and explain and defend my actions to anyone until I'm good and ready."

The Headmistress smiled. "You don't have to worry about that Hermione. It will be logged in Hogwarts Book of Records and no one but myself and my deputy Pomona have access to it."

The curly-haired brunette did not hesitate.

"All right. Can you give me a little time to get ready? And ask Poppy to come?"

Minerva McGonagall nodded and looked directly at Rabastan. "We need natural, not transfigured, spelled, or conjured items, to represent the primary elements. The House Elves will be able to help."

Rabastan nodded, and turned to walk towards a set of interior doors while Hermione made her way to a different set of doors.

Sebastian took note of it. They were keeping separate rooms. Interesting. A sign they were truly serious about getting to know each other, for a real relationship. The elder wizard was pleased. He had not expected this, but he was more than content with the outcome. His favourite great-nephew was getting bonded to a witch he had loved and believed lost, a witch who was pregnant with his child. True, it was not a marriage bond but given the looks they were sneaking at each other he was pretty certain it would become a permanent bond.

~o~

It did not take long for the hand fasting ceremony to be carried out. The dinner that followed was cheerful and filled with intellectual debates and discussions. It was late when Minerva, Poppy, and Sebastian Lestrange took their leaves and excused themselves. The Lestrange Patriarch had accepted Minerva's invitation to stay in Hogwarts for a few days, to get to know Hermione.

Hermione had already finished her usual nightly routine: a quick shower, brushing her teeth, slathering her body with lotion and her belly with a special salve to prevent stretch marks. She was dressed in a sea-foam green satin nightgown edged with chocolate brown lace and satin piping and tugged on the matching robe. She was too big to tie the robe closed around her waist but the higher empire-waist, full pleats, and a little magic, modified the gown to accommodate her bump. She sat down on the stool in front of her non-magical dresser mirror and massaged her face with cream before brushing and braiding her hair.

Absently her mind drifted back to the meeting with Sebastian Lestrange. She had not expected such a cordial positive interaction with a Pureblood Patriarch. She had steeled herself for scorn and snide comments despite Rabastan's reassurances that Great-Uncle Sebastian was not a snob.

Being so warmly welcomed by the Head of the Family bolstered her secret hopes that she would be welcomed, accepted and loved in her new family. At one time she had hoped that family would be the Weasleys, but after her break-up with Ron that dream had shattered. Molly Weasley ruled that household with an iron fist and would not tolerate anyone slighting her 'baby boy' even when the bastard had cheated on Hermione; not once, but twice.

"So what do you think?"

Hermione lifted her eyes to meet the smouldering cobalt blue ones of her lover, her partner, her hand fasted spouse, in the mirror. And she smiled. He was dressed in a forest green quilted silk robe, the lapels parting to bare smooth hard flesh. Rabastan had confessed he hated having body hair and had made it a part of his routine to use depilatory charms until his hormones had settled enough to use the longer lasting potions in his late twenties.

"You were right," she admitted as she watched him in the mirror.

She watched him walk up to stand behind her, to rest his hands on her silk covered shoulders, push the sea-foam green silk off her shoulders so they fell down her arms. She inhaled sharply as he brushed callused fingertips over her shoulders, under the narrow spaghetti straps of her matching empire-waist nightgown. Her breasts were so swollen she didn't need a bra for cleavage, they were almost spilling out of her gown.

Rabastan must have felt the same because his fingers lightly danced over the top swells over the edge of the nightgown, dipping lightly into the valley between them. Her breath came faster.

"This is our wedding night," she murmured.

"Yes. But I don't expect you to do anything." The words 'You're too pregnant' hovered between them. But he never stopped caressing her skin, exploring her flesh, arousing her senses.

Her free hand moved unexpectedly fast to grab his right wrist, pressing her hand over his, guiding his fingers deeper into her bodice, to cup one full curve.

"On the contrary, Rab I have very high expectations of you. I expect you to meet," her lips parted breathily, "and exceed each," the pink tip swiped over her lower lip, "and every one of them."

Her eyes were dilated and languorous. "I've waked up too many nights aching and yearning for you, too afraid to reach out, to push…" her voice trailed off as she arched her spine, thrusting her breast into his hand.

Almost without his conscious intent his left hand began mimicking the actions of his right, sliding into her bodice, gently massaging the swollen curves, brushing fingers across the sensitive hard tips pressed against the thin slippery material.

"I don't want to hurt you. Or our child."

She smiled wickedly at him in the mirror and rose from the stool, slowly enough for his hands to stay on her though she did shrug enough to allow the robe to slide off and onto the floor.

"Just follow my lead," she murmured stepping back, pressing her backside against his thighs. She could feel his hardening erection against the small of her back.

As she moved towards her four-poster bed she used a small wandless charm to pull the curtains aside and hold them back. She shifted so Rabastan, who had followed her, was between her and the edge of the bed, idly playing with her very swollen and aching nipples. She turned enough to get a good angle and pushed him back onto the mattress, with enough forcefulness to bounce on the padded springy surface. Then she was pushing his lapels apart, tugging at the belt to unveil his fully aroused cock. Wandlessly she summoned a padded footrest and sat on it. This put her more or less at eye level with his waist.

He choked when she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the mushroom-like head, slowly but surely taking in more of his length within her mouth. He barely restrained the urge to thrust forward, to allow her to take the lead and give him a very thorough blowjob, using tongue and the bare edge of her teeth to increase his arousal to uncontrollable levels. She used her hands and nails to squeeze and massage what she did not take in her mouth. He twisted his hands in the cotton sheets to keep himself from grabbing her head and forcing his cock down her throat. And when she began manipulating his balls he completely lost it.

He came hard, spilling himself first in her mouth then coating her lips, throat and breasts with his fluids. He stared at her flushed and awed. He had heard enough from eavesdropping to know most women were not fond of engaging in sex so close to the delivery date.

He watched her rise from her near squat, crawl onto the bed, straddling his lap, knees beside his hips. He could not decide what drew his attention more: the prominent bump that sheltered his child, the very enticing twin curves above said bump smeared with his cum, her full moist lips that had just been licked clean by an agile pink tongue, or smouldering pale brown eyes. Her face was level with his and he could see the gold flecks in the irises, tiny striations around light brown pupils.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed back, until he had to support himself on his elbows to keep from falling flat on the bed. She had moved closer, close enough to press her belly against him. He could feel their child nudging, shifting, through the stretched taunt flesh.

"Poppy said no sexual intercourse but there are other ways to share pleasure," he murmured just before shifting out from under her, unbalancing her enough to sprawl on the bed on her side.

She did not protest as he rolled her onto her back, tugging the nightgown straps low enough to slide off her shoulders, to expose her chest. She gasped as he latched onto the exposed nipple even as his hands pushed the skirt up to expose her wet aching core. He released the nipple long enough to shift lower between her parted legs. And she sobbed as he pleasured her with his hands, tongue, teeth, and lips. She screamed his name as she came, musky fluids spilling from her. She was very conscious of his agile tongue swiping along her slit and into her opening, seeking out every drop of her secretions.

Her muscles were quivering from the intensity of her orgasm. She could not muster the energy to move from the edge of the bed. And then he was kissing her. She tasted herself on his lips but she did not mind. She only wished Poppy had cleared her for vaginal intercourse. She ached to feel his cock between her legs, thrusting into her, stretching her flesh and testing her endurance in the most pleasurable of ways.

He was moving her, resting her head against the pillow, lying next to her, his hard and much larger frame pressed against her back, his softened cock nestled against her backside.

"Thank you," he murmured.

It was the first time they had been sexually intimate since their reunion.

Hermione chuckled throatily. "You can thank me by thoroughly shagging me once Poppy clears me."

He laughed and kissed the side of her neck, just under her ear.

"You can definitely count on that Mia."

Hermione smiled as she fell asleep in his arms. Agreeing to a hand fasting was definitely the best decision she had made since she had come to Hogwarts. Other than sending the letter and runic puzzle to Rab.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Harry Potter smiled faintly as he sipped his tea and worked his way through his plate of scrambled eggs and bacon rashers. He was very pleased Winky had decided to attach herself to him, to the Potter family. He did agree with Hermione's views about slavery but it was hard to set free a race that did not want to be freed.

"Harry, have you heard? Rabastan Lestrange has returned to Britain with a wife and heir."

The Senior Auror Captain frowned faintly and looked at his fiancée who was scanning the just delivered copy of the Daily Prophet. It had not really improved its record in reporting accurate truthful facts in all the years since Voldemort's Second and Final Fall.

He had read the news about Rabastan Lestrange's true identity two years ago. He had not believed it at first, that the Rabastan Lestrange who tortured Neville's parents was not the real Rabastan Lestrange, but an impostor. That the real Rabastan Lestrange was not a Death Eater or Pureblood fanatic, but a strong supporter of equality. Had not believed it until Kingsley had confirmed the news. Back then Harry had thought about it and set it aside. The one they believed was Rabastan had been killed in the Final Battle. His death had provided closer to many fighters on the Light Side. The appearance of this new Rabastan Lestrange was disconcerting but in the end ignorable, since he hadn't made any waves indicating he could be a threat. And Kingsley had put his foot down firmly about persecuting him.

He finished his breakfast and stood up, bending down to brush a kiss against Ginny's cheek.

"Whatever you say Ginny. I'm off to work now."

Harry hurried out of the kitchen, grabbing his cloak on the coat stand, swinging it on. He stepped into the small foyer of the Tudor-style manor house and Apparated.

Less than a second later he appeared in one of the many secure Apparation Points in London. Ten minutes later he was inside the Ministry of Magic and making his way to his office.

"Harry, the Minister wants to speak to you!"

"Sure thing Terry."

Terry Boot was not a field Auror but a researcher affiliated with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the magical version of a Crime Scene Investigator.

Harry changed directions and made his way to the lower secure levels containing the Minister of Magic's offices.

The secretary at the front smiled at him. "Go right in Auror Potter. The Minister is expecting you."

And he was.

Kingsley put aside the files he had been reading and gestured at the chair on the other side of the table.

"Have a seat Harry," he said holding out a plate of sandwiches. Harry accepted one and sat down before taking a bite. Cucumber and cress.

"What is it Kingsley?" he asked bluntly.

The ebony skinned wizard eyed the younger one shrewdly. "Have you read today's Daily Prophet?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Their news articles aren't the most accurate or factual."

"Well they have one that is in today's edition." Kingsley reached across and tossed a paper at Harry who caught it and glanced at the front page.

New Heir for Lestrange Clan.

Lestrange Heir married.

Quickly he scanned the article. It basically boiled down to Patriarch of the Lestrange clan selecting Rabastan Lestrange as his heir, the next Patriarch and Head of the extended Lestrange clan. It was an expected move as Rabastan Lestrange had been acting as Sebastian Lestrange's hands and voice for the past two decades. The new heir had recently married and had confirmed he and his wife would be making Britain as their primary residence. There were some speculations that the wife was an English witch who wanted to live in her birth country.

"How true is this?" he asked Kingsley.

"Pretty accurate. Don't know about the wife though. No one in the French Ministry is talking about her identity."

"I doubt she's a British witch. I haven't seen or heard anything about any Pureblood families with daughters acting extra smug. Trust me, Ginny would have heard from Lavender and Parvati; their gossip instincts are much more accurate and quicker than any of our informants."

"She might be a Half-Blood. Or from a less influential family," Kingsley pointed out.

Harry snorted. "I doubt it. Lestrange is a Pureblood. He might talk about equality and work with Muggleborns and Half-Bloods, but to actually marry one? I don't think so. His kind doesn't change."

Harry didn't know but he would eventually be forced to eat those words with a side order of crow.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Less than a week later Harry stared at the letter in his hand that had just been delivered by a generic post-owl. He broke the ingenious wax seal spelled to recognize him and unfolded the letter. It was an invitation from Minerva, to a naming ceremony being held in Hogwarts for an alumna.

Harry re-read the invitation more closely. Usually naming ceremonies were held in ancestral or birth lands. He tried to think of anyone from his school days who might have just had a baby. He couldn't. Why didn't Minerva include the parents names in the invitation? Or at least a sex for the kid? Guests would be expected to bring a gift, something.

"Hey, Ginny?"

"Yes Harry?"

"Do you know of anyone who's pregnant? Or might have just had a baby?"

The red-head stuck her head into his home office. "Not off hand. Why?"

He held up the invitation. "Minerva sent us an invitation for a naming ceremony in Hogwarts. But she didn't write the parents names."

"Couldn't you Floo, or write and ask?" Then she made a face. "Why do you care anyway? It can't be anyone we know, or anyone important if she didn't include a name. Just write back saying we're too busy to attend."

Harry was taken aback by the casual dismissal. "But Ginny, Minerva wouldn't have invited us without a good reason."

Ginny laughed. "Oh Harry, you're reading too much into it. It's probably one of her friends grandchildren who gave birth and asked for Harry Potter to be there at the naming ceremony. Not one of us."

Harry found himself vaguely offended by her off-hand manner though he held his tongue. He never won any fights with Ginny and always ended up sleeping alone if he angered her badly enough. These were times when he wondered if he really wanted to marry her. But she was one of the handful of witches who actually saw him as Harry, not the Wizard-Who-Won. And he did not want to damage his relationship with the Weasley family.

"Maybe," he responded in a non-committal tone. "But Minerva isn't the sort to ask without a good reason." He glanced at the date and time. "It's this Saturday morning at ten. We can just stop by for half-an-hour and then leave," he offered.

"I'm sorry Harry, I'm meeting Lavender and Parvati for a spa day." She did not look sorry at all.

Harry watched her leave and tucked the letter into his robe pocket. Ginny might be busy Saturday but it didn't mean he couldn't go and pay his respects to his old teacher. It would be nice to see the rebuilt Hogwarts again.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Saturday morning Harry appeared just outside the closed gates of Hogwarts. The smaller side-entrance swung open at a touch of his wand. He began walking up the path to the castle. It was amazing how quickly and thoroughly the land had recovered from that awful battle. There were almost no traces of the blasted debris and damage from the Final Battle.

He entered the Great Hall where there was an unexpected crowd including familiar faces. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Luna Lovegood, Padma and Terry Boot, Daphne and Blaise Zabini, were among them. The Hogwarts staff members were present as well. So were Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy. The unfamiliar faces looked to be members of one family with wavy dark brown, almost black hair, dark blue eyes, and the refined attractive features that characterized many of the ancient wealthy magical families.

He approached Padma and Terry who were chatting with Luna. After greeting them he voiced the question in his mind.

"My invitation did not name the parents. Do you know who they are?"

Padma shook her head. "It wasn't specified in our invite either. But I think they must be Purebloods or Half-Bloods to follow the old ways."

That confused Harry. "Old ways?"

Padma tilted her head. "Oh, you wouldn't know." Harry bit his tongue to not take offence as Padma shifted into a familiar lecturing stance, taking a deep breath in preparation. It reminded him so much of Hermione he did not hear the first part of her explanation.

"…To protect the firstborn, usually the heir."

He mentally shook himself. "I'm sorry Padma, could you repeat that?"

She gave him an impatient look before doing so. "It's an old magical tradition for a couple from a wealthy influential clan to go into seclusion, especially if the baby was in direct line to be the next heir. To protect the mother and unborn child from potential assassins, threats, and the stress of interacting with the higher levels of magical society. It's no longer followed, but a few purists still follow some of the ways.

"The mother and father go into seclusion the closer she is to her delivery date. The father is always the second one to hold the newborn, to acknowledge the child and cast the spell to link the baby into the Familial Magical Legacy. The name and gender is kept as secret as possible, the name especially until the formal Naming Ceremony, even in the invites." Her expression turned curious. "They try to arrange to give birth and hold the Naming Ceremony on the same land the baby was conceived, if possible, to create a stronger link to the land. It's one reason why many old families have such strong ties to their estates and certain unique talents."

Harry was baffled. "Then why Hogwarts? It's not a family estate and it's definitely not a hospital."

"I don't know," Padma admitted.

Harry glanced over at Blaise and Daphne who were still holding themselves aloof from their old year-mates, only briefly interacting with the strangers.

"Why are they here?"

"It's tradition to invite witches and wizards from all factions and social classes, to not spite anyone," Luna murmured. "The story about Sleeping Beauty's parents offending an evil fairy began from true magical history. Only it was a dark witch who was offended at not being invited to a Naming Ceremony. Old families invite a variety of witnesses – light, dark, and neutral; rich and poor; Pureblood, Half-Blood and Muggleborn; wealthy nobles, bureaucrats, Healers, Aurors, teachers – to not offend anyone, so the baby has bonds who could help when he or she is older."

"Nowadays everyone 'knows' who a Naming is being held for, so they can bring appropriate gifts and know if they wish to accept the potential bond. This Naming is being done the Old Way, in true secrecy."

"So why would a Slytherin accept when there is no benefit?" Harry wanted to know.

"But you don't know that Harry," Padma explained. "Neither do they. Besides, everyone knows only someone of influence can request to hold a ceremony in Hogwarts. The Headmistress is strict, not the type to allow it without a very good reason." She arched a brow. "Have you seen her?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't have time," he admitted. "I was really busy I couldn't even get a proper gift, just gift certificates for Magical Babes and a teething ring."

That took the trio aback. "Didn't Ginny go shopping for a gift? Where is Ginny anyway?"

"She didn't want to come," Harry confessed. "But I didn't want to let Minerva down."

Padma shook her head disapprovingly. "McGonagall does not make requests lightly. It's one reason why Terry and I are here."

"Same here," Harry said.

Luna turned away. "It's happening."

A few seconds later everyone in the Great Hall also felt it. A subtle shift in the magical flows, an exuberant bubbling feeling that filled them, an inexplicable sense of anticipation.

Minerva McGonagall stepped through a side door at the front of the Great Hall. She was dressed in rich burgundy robes silk embroidered with gold thread at the cuffs, collar, and down the front. Her hair was dressed in a more elaborate twist secured with glittering hair picks. Her face was relaxed, almost glowing with pleasure, as she looked around the Great Hall, motioning for them to approach. When the small crowd had formed a semi circle around her she looked around and smiled.

"Thank you for being here, on this very special day," she said. "We're here to acknowledge the child of an old friend and ally, a new heir to an ancient family." She turned towards the entrance she had used.

Harry was a little surprised to see Rabastan 'Frost' Lestrange step through dressed in heavy robes made of dark blue velvet and embroidered with silver thread. His dark brown, white-streaked hair was restrained in a queue, with shorter strands framing his face. His face was the most relaxed and pleasant Harry had ever seen it, a faint smile curving his lips. Underneath the robes he wore leather pants and a pale grey silk tunic embroidered with black silk thread at the collar and down the front. His pants and boots were made of black Norwegian Ridgeback dragon hide.

At his side was a shorter female, a witch with curly nut brown hair streaked with various shades of brown; a pretty face and bright pale brown, almost gold eyes; a bright warm light in her eyes as she looked at the wizard beside her. She too was dressed in dark blue velvet robes more richly embroidered with silver thread and lace at the cuffs, across the shoulders, down the front. Underneath she wore a pale grey dress whose skirts swirled underneath the hem or the robes. In her arms she carried a small bundle wrapped in a pale powder blue blanket embroidered at the edges with dark blue silk thread.

Harry recognized this witch.

"Hermione!"

She smiled at him but didn't respond to his outburst. Harry winced and responded to Luna's firm grip on his arm, her nails digging warningly into his forearm through his robe sleeve. He remained silent, vowing to find out exactly what was going on the first chance he got.

The couple came to stand beside Minerva, shifting to face each other in-between Minerva and the semi circle of wizards and witches.

Hermione looked up at Rabastan Lestrange before speaking in an oddly formal tone.

"I wish to state before all that I am here of my own free-will, without coercion or threat, be it physical, emotional, or magical. What I speak and say are my own words and thoughts, nothing forced upon me by others."

He bowed acknowledging her words before turning to Minerva who was smiling proudly and coughed softly before speaking.

"We are gathered here to name a new member of our community, a scion of the Clan Lestrange. To call a thing by its name is to give it power, so today we shall give this child that gift. We shall welcome him into our hearts and lives and give him a name of his own."

"To be a parent is to love and nurture, to show a child how to be a good person, to guide them, to teach them and learn from them," Hermione spoke clearly.

"To rein them in and give them wings to soar, to support them in ups and downs, to one day know they will walk their own path in the fullness of time," Rabastan continued.

Hermione shifted the blanket folds aside, to reveal a small round face with dark blue eyes and small wisps of dark brown curls covering the head.

"Husband," Harry inhaled sharply but Luna's restraining hand stilled his reflexive reaction. Hermione ignored everyone's reactions or non-reactions and held out the bundle towards the wizard. "Our child, our firstborn, our son. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, born of my body, our love, our union. Will you name him, Rabastan 'Frost' Lestrange?"

"Wife," Rabastan's soft voice was clearly heard by all as he carefully accepted the baby cradling him close to his chest before touching the small face with his fingers, tracing out some unknown design.

Harry heard several sharp inhalations when the baby chortled and flailed, gold and white sparks bursting from the tiny clenched fists making fireworks bloom and fade repeatedly on his father's formerly subdued dark blue robes.

"Accidental Magic," Padma murmured. "It's a sign of true power for a child to display magic so young and when he is happy and not frustrated."

Rabastan turned to face the audience. "My child, my eldest, my son. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, my legacy, my heir. Marius Harold Lestrange, son of Rabastan and Hermione. Does anyone dispute me?"

One dark brow rose inquiringly. There was no challenge though Harry was sorely tempted.

Minerva coughed softly. "Do you wish to name any god-parents?" she asked.

Rabastan shook his head. "Not at this time."

Minerva nodded and reached out to touch the baby's face.

"You are known to us and all, Marius Harold Lestrange. This is your name and legacy. Bear it with honour, wisdom and restraint."

The distinctive ring of a heavy bell rang deep and loudly. The magic in the room built and exploded in a small shower of sparks and dust over the four at the front, mostly over the father and the baby.

The baby, the newly named Marius Lestrange, began fussing. Hermione stepped forward to take him and cradle him close, rocking him against her breast as she wandlessly conjured something resembling a snitch to hover in his line of sight.

Hesitantly Harry stepped forward. "Hermione? Is it really you?"

She turned to look at him and smiled warmly. "Yes Harry it's really me."

Harry took three quick steps to stand before her. He could see the baby's face. The kid was really cute, flailing with enthusiastic uncoordinated fists, trying to grab the snitch. Circumspectly he cast a wandless Dark Magic detection spell and found nothing. Deciding to be prudent and not assume anything he asked the question on all of their minds.

"Hermione, where've you been? Why didn't you contact anyone? We thought you were dead! We had a memorial ceremony and everything!"

She laughed. "Oh Harry, that's a long story, one best told on a full stomach."

"Quite correct Hermione," Minerva added briskly. "I believe the House Elves have prepared a nice brunch for us. Including those cucumber and cress sandwiches you are so fond of Hermione."

Hermione smiled at Minerva. "Let's go and eat Harry. I'll tell you everything after."

"What's there to tell?" Luna asked airily. "Hermione was thrown into the past where she met and fell in love with Mr. Lestrange. When she came back she was more worried about getting back with him than anything else."

The couple stared at the airy Ravenclaw with wide eyes. "Luna?" Hermione squeaked. "How did you know?"

"I guessed," Luna admitted. "I also have some of my mother's photo albums from when she was a student. There are quite a few of her DADA teacher Hermia Grangston with a visiting scholar in her fourth year, a wizard with two Masteries in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, a Rabastan Lestrange."

Hermione choked. "You knew?"

"I thought she was a relative of yours," Luna countered. "The time travel bit only came to me when you vanished. You looked just like Hermia Grangston in the photos."

Harry goggled at his oldest friend. "You travelled into the past? You met my parents? You taught them?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes, I did, to all three. I did try to change the past but I don't know how effective I was. I know Rabastan took my words to heart, but the others…?" she shrugged.

"How did you get back?" Padma asked.

"Another accident," Hermione said.

"She was duelling Riddle. There was a bad interaction of spell energies. I thought she had died." Rabastan added bluntly. "It was a shock to find she had somehow been thrown back into her real time, the future."

Harry shook his head bemusedly. "Why do I get a feeling there is a lot more not said?" he asked rhetorically.

"Because you're using your brain and thinking," Rabastan responded lightly. "What happened happened. Hermione is here to stay."

There were questions in Harry's mind. What exactly had Hermione been doing in the past? Had she told Dumbledore or anyone else anything? If so why had his parents chosen Pettigrew as the Secret Keeper? And what about Sirius? When exactly did she leave the past and return to the future? A year or so if she re-met Rabastan and gotten together and had the baby. Why hadn't she contacted Harry? Or the Weasleys? Did she contact anyone other than Rabastan and Minerva? All of his questions were racing together in his mind but Harry firmly put them aside. There would be plenty of time to answer them. For now he wanted to concentrate on catching up with his friend.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving it open to a sequel and outtakes, but nothing is planned.
> 
> Please note this is B7 EWE, Harry and Ginny are engaged and living together but not married. Ginny is more interested in her career and having fun than settling down.


End file.
